


Loki Returns

by Airbrushed



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Iron Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Arc Reactor, Arc Reactor Angst, Arc Reactor Failure, Arc Reactor Issues, Avengers Family, Avengers Feels, Avengers Movie Night, Avengers Tower, Bruce Is a Good Bro, Clint Is a Good Bro, Domestic Avengers, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Howard Stark Is a Dick, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Howard Stark's Bad Parenting, Hurt Tony, Hurt Tony Stark, I love tony, I promise, M/M, Minor Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, Natasha Is a Good Bro, Past Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Please Don't Hate Me, Poor Tony, Post-Avengers (2012), Pre-Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, Protective Avengers, Sad Tony, Steve Is a Good Bro, The Author Regrets Everything, The Author Regrets Nothing, Tony Angst, Tony Being Tony, Tony Feels, Tony Has Issues, Tony Has Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Tony Has Trust Issues, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Has Daddy Issues, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony Stark Is a Good Bro, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony Stark Still Has Arc Reactor, Tony Stark-centric, Tony-centric, i love the arc reactor, sorry Tony
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-11-20
Packaged: 2018-05-11 08:05:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 71,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5619649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Airbrushed/pseuds/Airbrushed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki has escaped Asgardian prison and wants revenge on the Avengers, but more specifically Tony, who seems to be the target. After finding out that the god is out for his head, he's been hiding away in his workshop even more than usual. The nightmares won't stop, so sleep is rare, and food is often forgotten. The team tries to help, but they're either pushed away or completely ignored most of the time. Tony is afraid of being kicked off the team, so he deals with his problems by himself, but it doesn't always work out how he wants. He says some pretty dumb shit when he's drunk, after all, and it doesn't help that his AI sees no problem in calling on his team mates when he's too lost in his own head.  The Avengers end up learning some things they maybe weren't meant to hear, and some maybe they were. (hints of stony) DISCLAIMER: characters belong to Marvel.<br/>Also posted on Fanfiction.net</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Loki Returns

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first chapter of Loki Returns. The name is kind of dumb, I know, but it's the best I've got. I worked really hard on this and all the other chapters that will be posted soon, so please enjoy.

_“Alert! Sir, the tower is under attack. I would advise you to procure the armor.”_

A moment of silence fell through the lab before a muffled voice could be heard, along with the sound of tools falling onto the concrete floor. A sleepy, dazed Tony Stark emerged from his position on his stool, lifting his head from his desk, revealing the imprint of a wrench he had carelessly fallen asleep on, upon his cheek. 

“Again? God the one time I decide to doze off…” He grumbled as he stood, stretching his arms and back, tight from the awkward, hunched sleeping position. “You know the drill, J. The Mark VII, please.”

_“Of course, sir,”_ the AI responded and complied. By the time Tony had changed into his under suit, the Mark VII was ready and waiting, courtesy of JARVIS. He stepped in, waiting as the armor encased his body. The face plate was the last to close, and the eyes slits began to glow, indicating it was ready and online.

“Stark, what the hell took you so long?” Steve’s voice echoed through the living area they had all recently began to call theirs. Steve and the other avengers were all standing in the center of the room, dressed and ready for battle, with the exception of Banner, because this may not call for code green. Natasha and Clint glanced at Tony momentarily before returning their eyes to the holographic image of the tower JARVIS had pulled up. The tower defense system was up and running and the threat seemed minor as of this time.

“Relax, Capsicle, I was in the lab. What do we got?” Tony noticed the obvious annoyance on Steve’s face, smirking internally. He turned his attention to the hologram as Steve began to speak.

“We still don’t know who or what is attacking the tower, JARVIS can’t seem to get a visual, only a general area where an unknown energy signature is being detected. That’s all we got. Any suggestions, o-brilliant-one?” Steve mocked, but kept a rather serious expression on his face.

“Actually, as a matter of fact, yes. Jarvis? Run a scan for any signs of life in the general area of the energy signature, just because we can’t see anything doesn’t mean nothings there.”  


_“There does seem to be…someone… emitting a similar energy to Mr. Odinson. It would seem this threat is Asgardian, Sir.”_ All eyes flicked to Thor, who now seemed quite uneasy.  


“As you all know…” he began hesitantly, “my brother, Loki, had managed to escape Asgardian prison. It is quite possible that he has come back to Midgard, possibly for revenge on the Avengers.”

“Really, Reindeer Games is back? Banner, stay on the coms, this might turn out to be a code green after all.” And with that, Tony and the other Avengers headed to the roof top. 

Tony could hear Steve forming a plan with the others in the Elevator, but he knew this was Loki. Whatever plan they managed to throw together would backfire within minutes. The elevator arrived at the roof, and Tony immediately stepped out, shooting a repulsor beam at the area JARVIS indicated the threat was coming from. “Did we hit him, J?” 

“REALLY Tony? I thought we had a plan.” Steve fumed from behind him, pulling his shield off his back in a ready stance.

“Ah, no. You had plan, I deemed it trivial and now here we are.” Tony watched as annoyance changed to anger on Steve’s face. He noticed this and added, “Really Cap, this is Loki. He’s completely unpredictable and I was the only one with a view of the energy signature from my helmet. I took the shot.”

“Oh really? Alright, genius. So where’s his energy signature now?” Steve’s cold glare sent goose bumps down Tony’s arms, not that anyone could see.

“According to JARVIS…” He silenced for a moment as his AI revealed the new location of the energy, now coming directly at him. Within seconds of this revelation, Iron Man was tackled with great force against the now closed elevator doors. A few coughs and an annoyed, “there.” could be heard over his com.

“Tony? Tony, are you alright?” Steve yelled into his com, about to run to his team mates aid before a booming, “Captain!” could be heard, and a hand on his shoulder pulling him away from a ray of some sort of magic that was aimed at him.

“Thanks, Thor. Natasha, go check on To-“ 

“Avengers! It is so, so good to see you again,” an evil smile curled up at the corners of the man’s mouth.

“Brother,” Thor shouted at the now visible Loki, “Why have you returned to Midgard? No more games.”

“What? Can I not visit my favorite bunch of…heroes?” He retorted sarcastically through gritted teeth.

No one had noticed Iron Man had recovered from his assault, not even Loki, it seemed. Soon Tony was behind the man, every missile and a repulsor beam aimed at Loki’s head.

“Give it up, Rudolph.”

“Why, it’s good to see you too, Stark.” Loki suddenly appeared behind Tony, the sharp end of the staff pressed to the back of his armor. Tony knew the blade couldn’t cut through the gold titanium alloy, but the magic, well, that he wasn’t sure about. Loki focused his eye on the rest of group now, hatred burning through them. “If you value his life, I suggest you put down your weapons.”

The group complied, seeing as they had no other choice.

“Such fools.” Suddenly, their backs were forced against a concrete wall, and they found themselves unable to move.

“Great plan, Stark.” Clint sneered, rolling his eyes.

“Not the time Clint. This is ser-“Natasha was cut off suddenly as Loki removed Tony’s face plate, then his helmet, tossing it aside and gripping his throat. He lifted tony by the neck; feet lifted off the ground with ease, and shoved him against the opposite concrete wall. His staff dropped to ground, as he raised his other hand, it hovering over the arc reactor in Tony’s chest. Steve watched, struggling to free himself, though he knew it was useless. He didn’t know much about Tony’s arc reactor, but he knew it was keeping him alive and powering the Iron Man armor. 

“Ah… I remember this.” Loki’s eyes brightened as the look on Tony’s face showed remembrance. “The clump of metal that kept me from enslaving you, yes?” He noticed the absolute terror in Tony’s eyes, and Tony knew that this was going to be like Stane all over again. His breathing began to increase, sweat starting to bead down his face. “Not again,” he thought, “not right now…” As if reading his mind, Loki clasped his hand to the reactor, covering the blue glow. He wasn’t penetrating the armor with his hand at all, but Tony could feel a pulling and shifting sensation in his chest. Oh no. No no no no no, not again. His eye’s squeezed shut; he gritted his teeth as he attempted to hide the feeling of absolute terror and pain. Loki grinned; pleased at the pain he was causing his enemy. He pulled his hand back to a hovering position, but this time there was a sickly green glow between the shifting arc reactor and his palm, a glow that was pulling the clump of metal from Tony’s chest. 

Tony desperately tried to keep himself from screaming in pain, and actually pleaded the god to stop. “PLEASE! I ca-can’t…PLEASE…please…” Tony forced the words through clenched teeth. Tony Stark…begging? Steve couldn’t believe what he was hearing. The whole team, actually. Even Loki’s face held a hint of astonishment. It didn’t last long though. There was one final snapping sound as the arc reactor in their friends chest was pulled through his armor, into Loki’s hand.

“It’s quite beautiful, isn’t it stark?” Loki smirked at the wide eyed genius he still had pinned to the wall, and let him down. He was no longer a threat to him. The light from the reactor shown in Loki’s eyes, as the light from Tony’s slowly faded. He could already feel the shards of shrapnel forcing their way into his heart. He was breathing heavy; his chest felt like it was being ripped open with each inhale. If he friends couldn’t break free soon, he would die. Somehow though, he felt as if Loki hadn’t come to kill all of them, barely even him, though the target appeared to be him. No, Loki was planning something. He wanted to allow Tony a chance to live, even if it was a slight one, though it would make no difference to him if he died. It was personal. It was about exposing his weaknesses to his friends, similar to what Tony had done to Loki. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Tony noticed Banner, or the hulk rather. Someone had given the code green. Tony felt a weak smile spread across his lips.

“What are you smiling about, you repulsive pest?” Loki snapped at him. Though not a second later, there was a loud shake, and Loki felt heavy breath upon the back of his neck. He crushed the arc reactor in his hands, turning to face the beast. “There you are, monster. I was wondering when you’d show up.” He smiled just as Hulk raised his fists to smash him, and disappeared. The other avengers were released from Loki’s magic almost instantly, and the hulk shrunk back down into puny Banner. 

“TONY!” Natasha and Steve said in unison, as they all rushed to his side. His skin was ghost-pale, his lips losing color as well. His eyes were bloodshot and wide open, like a deer in headlights. On top of the shrapnel slowly but painfully clawing its way into his heart, he was breathing as if he’d just run the equator nonstop. No one knew he was having a full-fledged panic attack, they just assumed it was from the pain.

“Thor, get the elevator open. Banner I know you just changed but I’m going to need your help. We need to get Tony to the lab immediately.” Steve gave these orders as he gathered Stark into his arms, carrying him bridal style, walking him into the now open elevator.

“Come on Stark, stay with us. Eye’s on me.” Clint ordered, but it was as if Tony were looking right through him. He didn’t have long and they all knew it. After what seemed like eternity, the elevator arrived on Tony’s lab floor. They scrambled out, and walked toward the locked doors. Natasha entered the security pin and the doors clicked open.

“JARVIS I need a full scan of Tony’s vitals and a spare arc reactor. Where does he keep them?”

_“Scanning Sir’s vitals now. The spare arc reactors will be in the sealed case in the back room. The access code is 1638. You will also find a chair to place Sir. I suggest you move quickly.”_

Steve rushed into the back room, setting Tony on the reclined dentist-like chair while Bruce open the case, pulling out one of the spare reactors, studying it carefully as he brought it to where Tony lay. He was unresponsive, and Bruce had no idea how to correctly connect the reactor. The other avengers eyed him expectantly.

“JARVIS, walk me through this, I have no idea what I’m doing.”

_“Connect the wires in his chest to the back of the arc reactor. Mind the metal casing; do not let the wires touch the sides.”_

“Okay, done. Now what? Come on JARVIS his vitals are dropping fast.”

_“Place the reactor in the chest cavity. Press and twist.”_

Bruce did as he was told and sure enough, the reactor pressed into place, glowing in their dying friend’s chest. They waited a moment, and finally Tony snapped out of his daze, breathing heavily still, as if trying to catch his breath. He no longer looked passive, and seemed to notice his friends standing around him, worried expressions on their faces.

“No one kissed me, right?” He joked, remembering the last time he almost died after falling through a wormhole in the middle of New York.

Steve just half-heartedly smiled, patting Tony on the shoulder. “It’s good to have you back, Stark. We thought we’d lost you for a second there.” He noticed the brief look of confusion on Tony’s face, before realization struck and his hand flew to his chest, checking to see if the hole was filled with the familiar blue glow. His breathing slowed and he leaned his head back on the chair, closing his eyes for moment and swallowing hard before standing up, stifling a wince of pain.

“I need a drink. Anyone else need a drink?” Tony asked them, back to his old self, or so it seemed. They just smiled, glad to have their friend back, and followed him out the lab door, back to the main floor for a round of drinks, or in Tony’s case, multiple rounds.


	2. I'm fine, Cap

The smell of freshly brewed coffee filled the living room air, sun shining through the windows into the sleeping genius’s eyes. A groan indicated he was finally awakening, and a patiently waiting Pepper Potts stood above him.

“…Pepper? What time is it?” he grumbled as he opened his eyes, and it immediately regretted it as the light blinded him, worsening his already pounding headache. “Hungover? Again Stark?” the disgruntled voice in the back of his mind questioned him.

“3:30. In the afternoon. You have a meeting at 5, and I figured now was as good a time as any to wake you up. Come on, I brought you coffee.”

“Oh Pepper, what would I do without you?” he teased, lending a quick smirk as he began to sit up, taking the coffee mug she had held out for him.

“Crash and burn. There’s breakfast waiting for you in the kitchen.” With that, she ruffled his hair, handed him two pills for his headache, and walked out the door.

Tony tilted his head back and swallowed the pills, washing them down with a swig of coffee. He made his way into the kitchen, and sure enough there was a plate set for him on the table. There were bacon, eggs, and hash browns, along with a note that read, “DON’T BE LATE.” He gave a slight smile before tossing the note back onto the table, setting his coffee on the counter as he rummaged the cupboards.

“There you are, beautiful,” Tony said to the glass bottle he held in his hand, pouring some into his coffee.

“Don’t you think you’ve had enough to drink, Stark? Your head’s gotta be killing you.” Rogers said as he stepped into the kitchen, as if appearing out of nowhere.

“I’ll let you know when I’ve had enough, Cap. How long have you been standing there? Did Pepper tell you to keep an eye on me? God knows how many times I’ve told that women I am perfectly fine.”

“You had your heart ripped from your chest by an Asgardian God, and you expect her to believe you’re perfectly fine?”

Tony could hear the annoyance in Steve’s voice, but also a hint of…understanding…perhaps? He chose to ignore it and took another sip of his coffee, sitting down at his spot at the table before responding. “Well it’s hardly the first time its happened.” Another swig of coffee.

Steve’s face held a look of complete and utter confusion. He’s read Starks files; it never mentioned anything about this happening in the past. “You mean to say this has happened before? When was this?”

“Aren’t you just itching to know, huh Capsicle? Relax; it was a couple years ago. Guy’s been dead for years.” Tony’s back was turned to the super soldier now, facing his meal as if he actually intended to eat it.

“He’s dead? What’d you do Stark, kill him?” Steve smirked, the sarcastic comment rolling easily off his tongue.

“Something like that.”

Steve watched the billionaire’s shoulders tense just the slightest bit as he said this and Steve instantly regretted his words. “I’m sorry Tony…I, uh, I didn’t know.” Great apology Steve. He mentally hit himself in the head. ‘I didn’t know,’ yeah, he got that part, stupid.

“Yeah. Now can we stop with the drama before we both grow a skirt?” Tony stood as he said this, grabbing his coffee, leaving his full plate behind as he exited the kitchen, leaving Steve a pat on the back.

 

It was 7PM now; his meeting was finally, FINALLY, over. They were always so boring to Tony. Pepper may have been CEO now, but damn did he still have to go to a lot of meetings. He walked into the lobby of Avengers Tower, stepping into the elevator. 

The lift stopped at his destination and he stepped off, wandering into the kitchen. “J, start the coffee please.”

_“Already on it, Sir.”_

“Welcome back, Iron Ass.”

“How about kiss my Iron Ass, feathers.” Tony retorted with a half smile at the archer perched on the counter in the kitchen. 

“Ooh, that one stung,” he joked and jumped off the counter grabbing his bow, now split in two, from seemingly out of nowhere. “Hey, think you could, uh, fix my bow? Or make a new one?” When Tony gave him a questionable look, Clint added, “Training with Nat.”

Tony just nodded and grabbed his freshly brewed coffee, adding a little liquor as he had done earlier. “I’ll see what I can do.” And with that, he grabbed the two halves of the bow, making his way back to the elevator and down to his lab.

As soon as he exited the lift, he tossed the archer’s bow into the trash, proceeding to the back wall. He flipped up a panel to reveal a keypad and typed in a pin number. The wall opened to reveal an arsenal with 5 sections; one for each of the avengers. He grabbed a spare, improved bow from Clint’s section, and closed the wall. He’s been waiting for that bird-brain to break his bow. He had always refused to accept the new and improved ones Tony had designed for him, but what could he say now? He set the weapon aside and sat himself at his desk.

“Arc reactor still working alright, buddy?”

_“It would seem that way, Sir. I detect no issues with the arc reactor, and your vitals are all steady.”_ The AI responded reassuringly.

“Thanks, J. Lock the doors, I don’t want disruptions. I have work to do.”

“Of course, sir.” 

“Display Black Widow’s bite gauntlet designs, Jarvis. There are some modifications I want to make.”

A holographic image of Natasha’s weapons appeared in front of him, the blue glow filling the lab. Tony began pulling apart the pieces of the hologram, examining each individual part. Some were removed and thrown in the holographic trash can, and others were redesigned to form a slicker, more efficient weapon.

“I think this will do. Add the design to my to-do list, J. I’ll start making them later. I want to get started on the new bullet proof material for Caps uniform.” Tony ordered and the AI did as it was told, pulling up the completed Captain America uniform design that his creator had finished earlier in the week. Tony studied his designs for any last minute adjustments, reaching for his now empty coffee mug.

“Dummy,” the robot in the corner whirred and waited for its command. “More coffee. Jarvis? Stereo, please.” Tony began gathering his tools and other supplies as ‘Shoot to Thrill’ by AC/DC started blasting through his stereo, and a cup of coffee was delivered to his desk by the whizzing robot. He sat himself at his desk, sipping the coffee and dismissing dummy, and got busy.

Hours passed, then days. The new uniform was finally complete, he just needed to test it and give it to Steve. He pinned it to one of the empty walls and made his way to the hidden arsenal, opening it and pulling out a rifle, strictly kept for testing. It was loaded and ready to go when he heard a knock on the glass of his lab. He sighed in annoyance, taking a ready stance and aiming the gun Caps new uniform, pinned to the wall.

“Jarvis, let him in.” 

Steve walked over to Tony, instantly noticing the rifle and his outfit on the wall. “Tony? What the hell are you doing? You’ve been down here for 3 days.”

“Three days? Huh, felt longer.” Tony ignored Steve’s other questions and fired three simultaneous shots at the new design. Not a scratch, not that he expected there to be one. He designed it, after all. He re-opened the arsenal and put the gun away, grabbing the newly designed uniform off the wall and tossing it at Steve. “It’s light, flexible, and most importantly, impenetrable. You’re welcome.”

Steve caught it in his hands, and he had to admit, it was surprisingly light. He gave Tony a look of gratefulness, but also concern. “Tony…this is great, really, it is. But don’t you think you should eat, and I don’t know, sleep?”

“Please, I’ve got Dummy here to keep me awake, right boy?” The Robot whirred happily and obliviously in the corner as it whipped up another cup of coffee. It picked up the mug with every intention of bringing it to his creator, but dropped it on the floor, just missing the desk. “Really? Again? Come on clean this up.” Tony ordered, turning around to face Steve again.

“Yeah, I can see that. Come on, Pepper sent me down here to get you, and I have no intention of leaving empty handed.” Steve’s jaw was set, feet planted shoulder width apart, and arms crossed over his chest. Captain America taking orders from Pepper Potts. Tony couldn’t help but chuckle at the thought.

“Wait. Pepper sent you?” Tony’s face suddenly stilled for a moment, as if contemplating his options. “…Let’s go.”

 

The two men stepped out of the elevator into the kitchen, and were greeted by the rest of their team. Clint was cooking dinner; because everyone loved Clint’s cooking, even if they refused to admit it. Natasha was setting the table, hair in a messy bun and clad in a too-big sweatshirt; probably Clint’s. It was weird, but oddly comforting to see possibly the most deadly assassin in the world dressed in baggy sweats. Banner was sitting at his spot on the table, arguing with Thor about whose turn it was to pick a movie for later. Ah, that’s right. If Tony had really spent three days in the lab, then tonight is movie night. He almost completely forgot, but chimed in as he stepped into the busy kitchen.

“Actually, pretty sure it’s my turn, Point break.” Tony teased; knowing the man still had no clue why he called him that.

“He lives!” Banner calls from his spot at the table, face showing sarcastic surprise.

Tony, being the childish character he is, simply sticks his tongue out at Bruce, taking his seat at the table, along with the rest of team. Clint goes around the table, scooping servings out on each person’s plate as Thor continues to insist that it’s his turn to pick a movie. Clint takes his seat next to Natasha, ignoring the God’s booming voice. Steve sat next to Thor on the opposite side, and Tony and Banner sat across from each other on each end. They all talked and joked with each other as they ate. Tony remained quiet through most of their meal, but threw in the occasional sarcastic comment or eye roll. He even flung a piece of food at Clint at one point. Besides that, he was silent. No one seemed to notice, and that was okay. He liked observing them, watching them so completely comfortable with each other. They were like one big happy family, and they had been for a little while now, though Tony never felt like he truly deserved to be a part of it. Hell, he wasn’t even positive that he was. He saw himself as the guy who paid for their food and home, and occasionally upgraded their weapons and armor. He felt weak compared to them, though. Underneath all that armor, no one really knew what went on inside his head. “Big man in a suit of armor. Take that away and what are you?” “I know guys with none of that worth ten of you.” Steve’s words echoed through his mind. Tony knew he was right, and he knew deep down, Steve still believed that. Usually, it wouldn’t bother him, had it been anyone else. Steve didn’t know this, but he was Tony’s idol, at least when he was a kid. His dad told him stories of the great Captain America, how he’d given his life to save the world and end the war. Tony always dreamed of becoming a hero when he was young, just like Cap. He thought maybe then, his father would accept him and be proud of him, but all he cared about was finding Steve. Tony couldn’t blame him, though he had other reasons for disliking his father. Reasons that he could never tell Steve. He knew that Howard Stark and Rogers were friends during the war, and Tony didn’t want to dampen his memories of the good old days. 

“Tony? You alright?”

The familiar voice snapped Tony out of his daze, shaking away the deafening thoughts. “Hm? Yeah, yeah, I’m fine, Cap.” Tony put on the most reassuring mask he could, hoping no one noticed the sudden change in expression, and turned to Thor. “Decide on a movie yet, Goldilocks?”


	3. Like Father Like Son

_“Damn it!”_

Steve shot up from his bed upon hearing the bitter shriek from the floor above, courtesy of his enhanced hearing. He tip toed to his door, careful to open it without making a sound. He stepped into the corridor and over to the stairs, climbing slowly and cautiously toward the noise. There was another noise, this time the sound of glass, shattering upon the floor, followed by an even harsher sounding, _“Shit!”_ Steve peered his head around the top of the stairs, staring at the distressed figure in the kitchen.

“Stark? Is that you?” Steve released the breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding as he flicked on the lights, revealing a swaying, perturbed Tony Stark.

“What’s it to you, Stars and Stripes?” Tony snickered at his own sarcasm, steadying himself on the counter and taking a swig of scotch from the bottle he held in his hand.

“Tony it’s 2 in the morning. Why the hell are you drinking? Are you so impulsive that you can’t wait until tomorrow?” Steve badgered, anger bubbling up inside of him. What if the alarm went off and there was an emergency? He would barely be able to get into the armor, let alone fight and protect innocent civilians. So yes, Steve was angry, and he was going to make sure Tony understood that.

“Today…tomorrow…it doesn’t matter. None of it…matters. I’ve only had…” he considered how he should finish his statement for a moment, before glancing at his now empty scotch bottle, “una botella.” He said the last words with a childish grin, grabbing another bottle off the counter.

Steve moved closer now, reaching over the counter and snatching the bottle from Tony’s shaky grasp.

“Hey! I was gonna…I was gonna drink that, Steve…” He sounded almost heartbroken as he said this; his eye’s sad and innocent, though his face remained happy and drunkenly smiling.

“You’ve had plenty. What the hell Tony? What if there was an emergency? You’d be completely useless and just another problem to worry about.” 

Tony’s expression changed, falling from an innocent, go lucky child, to a hurt and abandoned one. “You know… that’s so…funny. It’s funny,” his words slurred the slightest bit, and he had to steady himself once more before continuing, “My dad said those _exact_ words to…” he trailed off for a moment, as if forgetting who and where he was, “to _me._ Isn’t that funny, Steven?” He gave Steve a sad smile, tying a knot of pure guilt in the soldier’s stomach, flushing out the anger that had previously resided there.

“Tony… I-“

“No! Nooo,” the nearly unconscious genius interrupted, relying purely on the counter for support now, “It’s true. He was right Stevie! Howard was always _always right._ And you never argued with him about that. No wayyy. Look at me Steve! I’m just like him, if not worse! I swore… I promised myself I wouldn’t…I wouldn’t but here we are. Obie was like Howard too, even though he wuz a lit…a little bit…bit, I mean better. Yeah. He was better.” Tony seemed proud of himself for remembering the right word before carrying on, his stammering worsening, “He _lied_ to me! Did I know…? I mean YOU. Did _you_ know that Cap? Because _I_ sure didn’t. Until _this!_ ” He tapped his jittery fingers on the soft glow of blue light shining beneath his shirt, “He _took_ …he _stole_ it!” 

Steve stood on the other side of the counter, studying Tony’s somber, sullen face. He noticed the man trying to choke back tears. Steve’s heart ached just seeing him so…well….not _him._

“I’m sorry Tony.” Steve started walking around to the other side of the counter, trying to calm his friend. Tony took multiple steps back until his back was pressed against the cabinets behind him, sliding down them in defeat, head in his hands with knees pulled protectively to his chest. 

“I almost died! He tried to kill me… more than once. He used me. I was _used_ …and I didn’t even know. He hurt people I swore to _protect_...” Tony’s breathing was increasing drastically, his eyes wide open, stressfully running his hands through his hair. 

“Tony? Snap out of it! Jarvis, what’s going on?!”

_“It would appear Sir is experiencing an anxiety attack.”_

“Anxiety attack? What is that like shell shock? Why would Tony have shell shock?” Steve considered this for a moment. He knew soldiers who suffered from shell shock, but Tony had made it clear to him he was no soldier. 

_“Quite similar, Captain Rogers. Though the modern term is PTSD; Post traumatic stress disorder. Sir has a very severe case, I’m afraid. I strongly insist you calm him down.”_

Steve turned his attention back to the hyperventilating Tony Stark, before speaking to him in the most calming voice he could manage, “Tony…breathe… it’s okay…tony…”

The genius continued his heavy panting, images, flashbacks flickering through his mind.

“Cave…Yinsen…no…YINSEN…someone PLEASE…shrapnel…Pepper…help me… Obie…PLEASE I’M SORRY, JUST STOP I’LL BUILD IT…I’LL BUILD IT!”

Steve felt his jaw nearly drop. Build what? What was he talking about? Steve realized then that he really didn’t Tony at all. No. Steve now is NOT the time. You have to calm him down. Now.

As if on cue, Natasha sprinted into the room, rushing to Tony’s side, maneuvering around the shattered glass on the floor. Huh, Steve realized the glass had completely slipped his mind. Natasha knelt down beside the panicked brunette, taking his hands in hers, squeezing gently, whispering reassuring words to him.

“Shh…it’s okay, Tony. You’re safe. You’re home now. _Home.”_

Tony hesitated for a moment, his breathing hitched for a moment before it began to slow, “Home…?”

“Home,” Natasha repeated to him for reassurance.

The billionaire shook his head, clenching his eyes shut as he did so, as if trying to shake the memories from his mind.

“Right…home,” he convinced himself, immensely sobered up, compared to earlier. He attempted to stand, with the aid of Steve and Natasha. “I uh…I’m sorry…” he pressed the palm of his hand to his forehead, wincing in pain; probably from a combination of both the alcohol and the panic attack.

“It’s okay, Tony,” Natasha sweetly brushed his hair from his tired eyes, leaning his head against her shoulder for comfort, “Come on, let’s get you to bed.”

Tony just nodded in defeat, allowing himself to be put to bed, even tucked in. Steve smiled at the hidden motherly nature of Natasha. It was a rare sight to see. 

“What happened?” She questioned once she emerged from Tony’s room, shutting the door with a quiet _‘click.’_

“I heard a noise when I was sleeping, then glass breaking, from the kitchen, so I went upstairs to investigate it. I found him completely wasted. He freaked out when I scorned him for drinking so much, and sank to the floor. Jarvis informed me it was something called PTSD?” He looked to her hesitantly, waiting for an answer.

Natasha’s leaned against the wall, refusing to make eye contact at first, before giving in to Steve’s burning gaze. “Yes, Tony has PTSD. His life hasn’t exactly been sunshine and rainbows like every makes it out to be. Don’t judge a book by its cover, Cap.”

“Why? What happened to him that was so…traumatic?”

“Stark was held captive in a cave Afghanistan for 3 months by a terrorist group known as the Ten Rings. A bomb, his own bomb, blew up right next to him, and now there’s a cluster of shrapnel trying to force its way into his heart. That’s why he has the arc reactor. It keeps it out so he can live. A doctor, Yinsen, was also being held captive with Tony in the cave. He’s the one who saved Starks life, but he was conscious during the entire procedure. He was tortured. They wanted him to make them missiles. He made the Iron man armor instead. Yinsen didn’t make it. That’s all I know.” Natasha gave Steve one last glance before she left for her room, leaving Steve alone in the hall outside Tony’s bedroom. He had no idea. How could he not have known, or even tried to know more about his friend? He felt horrible, he needed to apologize. 

Steve slumped down against the wall by Tony’s door, similar to the way the brunette had done in the kitchen. He thought over every word Natasha had said, and the panicked mumblings Tony had repeated over and over. How much more was hidden under all that armor? Steve contemplated the night’s events, allowing the quiet snores of the man on the other side of the wall to lull him to sleep in the dimly lit corridor.


	4. Hungover

The tower was silent except for the slightest creak of the genius’s door as he emerged from his bedroom, well rested from his first full night of sleep in a long time. His bare feet padded gently across the floor as he stepped out, his gait lazy and unsteady. He was no doubt in for a day of in drowning in coffee and pain medication, as his head was still groggy from the night before. His brain felt like it was going to explode if he thought too hard; of course he still had every intention of working himself silly that day. He almost shuffled past the figure curled up against the wall outside his door, but caught a last minute glance before he had the chance to turn the corner. Sauntering backwards, he sighed, making his way towards the sleeping super soldier coiled up in the caliginous corridor. 

“Rogers?” He hesitantly nudged the blonde, not wanting to startle him from his surprising deep sleep, considering he was on the floor.  
Icy blue eyes snapped open almost instantly, seemingly awake for a moment or two as they scanned their surroundings. Seeing no immediate danger, they fluttered shut once more, opening and closing a few more times as if finally getting the chance to adjust and wake up properly. 

“G’morning…” the soldier rolled his shoulders as he straightened himself, back against the wall as he continued to sit on the wooden floor, “how’s your head?”

Ignoring the question, the billionaire just rolled his eyes (which hurt more than he would have expected), “What are you doing on the floor? The mattress I gave you not meet your standards or something?” He teased, and was rewarded with a smirk from the blonde, who was now rising to his feet.

“Ah…” He sheepishly ran his hand through his hair, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I guess I fell asleep after Natasha and I got you to bed. I uh, sorry.”

“Got me to bed?” Tony struggled to remember the evening’s chain of events, putting together the puzzle pieces in his head. He could remember alcohol, and frankly he could still somewhat smell it on his breath. Steve began to clarify, interrupting his struggle to recall the incident he undoubtedly caused.

“You drank yourself half to death, and somehow I triggered a panic attack out of you. Natasha calmed you down and we took you to bed. You really don’t remember?

Tony shook his head, running his hands through his ruffled hair, slightly ashamed and embarrassed that his friends had witnessed him at his lowest. “Not really. Sorry…for the uh, trouble,” he coughed awkwardly, shoving his hands into his sweatpants pockets.

“Not a problem. But maybe you should consider cutting down on the alcohol consumption?”

Tony couldn’t help but laugh, even if it pained his pounding skull. He stood there for a moment trying to pull himself together before playfully patting Steve’s back, walking away as he spoke. “Ha! Oh man, Cap…” he stifled another fit of laughter, “that’s priceless… really it is.” He chuckled again as he started into the kitchen, the soldier following idly behind.

Steve shook off the renounced attitude of the genius, wandering over to the fridge and pulling 4 eggs from the shelf; 2 for each of them. “Want some?” He asked this as if Stark had a choice, because there was no way he was going to let the man starve himself after the ample amount of alcohol he had consumed.

“Yeah sure, thanks Cap’n.” Tony said this almost indifferently, obviously lost in thought. He grabbed the carafe filled with coffee (thank you, Jarvis), pouring it into a mug for himself. The scent was warm and inviting as he sipped the unsweetened brew, feeling it stream down his throat, warming his stomach and slightly soothing his headache. He found himself observing the soldier as he prepared their meal; eggs, bacon, and white toast. He began to wonder why the guy cared about his health so much. Surely he had better things to worry about? Better things to do? It didn’t make sense to Tony. He had spent nearly his entire life taking care of himself, making decisions based on his own judgment and acuity. Besides, it’s not like he knew any other way; it’s just the way things have always been. He was a Stark. “Stark’s are made of iron,” and “Stark’s don’t cry.” His father’s words echoed through his throbbing head. Howard had made sure Tony understood this, and did everything he could to ensure it remained so. Images of his father, fists raised, standing above him as he cowered on the ground, tears filling the rims of his eyes but refusing to fall, flashed through his mind.

“Tony?”

The voice pulled the brunette from his far away thoughts, shaking them away almost as quick as they arrived.

“Hm? Uh… what?”

Steve set his breakfast on the counter in front of the dazed billionaire, the plate clunking slightly against the granite. “Eat.” This was his only response, aside from the concerned look he was burning into man.

Tony complied, unwilling to argue with the solider right now. He was exhausted, despite having actually slept for once. There were so many thoughts spinning through his mind, some of which refusing to let him push them to the back where they belonged. His shoulders slouched as he finished what he could of his food, realizing how not-hungry he was. He nodded a thanks to Steve, retreating to his workshop. He figured today was a good day to work on Natasha’s redesigned gauntlets.

“Jarvis, pull up Widow’s new bite designs.”

The AI adhered to his request, pulling the ingenious and intricate blueprints on the monitor, as well as a holographic image. 

Tony sat, laid back in his desk chair as he studied his designs for any final adjustments, before giving the seal of approval. He gathered his needed supplies, along with his tools and got to work. He began with the framework of the gauntlets. They were slimmer than the old design, but he made sure they were fitted to her wrists, and even added a pull system, similar to that of a wrist watch, in case she felt the need to tighten or loosen them. Once he finished, he moved on to the electrical capacitor system and wiring. He connected the new system to the redesigned electrical probes, and insert the taser disks into the small firing system. He also took the task of adding a set of taser batons to the set, something he’s wanted to do for a while now. Finally his creation was complete. He held up his work with pride, examining it thoroughly.

“J? Tell Nat to stop by the lab when she gets the chance.”

_“Will do, Sir.”_

Tony continued to chip away at various projects for the next three days, not once coming up for air even with his team nagging at him. He was a grown man, damnit. He was perfectly capable of taking care of himself. He poured himself a glass of scotch, downing it instantly. The familiar burning sensation warming his stomach. He savored the feeling for a brief moment before returning to his work, upgrading his Iron Man armor. 

A few hours later, there was a slight knocking at the lab doors.

_“Sir, Doctor Banner is requesting to enter the lab. Shall I let him in?”_

“Banner? Tell him I’m busy.” Tony pulled his welding mask down over his head, and continued his work.

Bruce stood patiently outside the doors before Jarvis spoke up.

_“I’m afraid Sir has denied your request, Dr. Banner.”_

“Tell him it’s important.”

_“Very well.”_

Tony flipped up his mask, setting his welding torch aside as the AI chimed in again.

_“I’m afraid he’s insisting, Sir.”_

“Fine. Let big green in.” He lazily waved his hand as the doctor slipped in.

“Tony? I think you should eat something…we’re all getting a bit worried. You’ve been down here working non-stop. Again.”

“Calm down, I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself, Banner.” Tony sounded almost annoyed, but his expression wielded his all too famous Tony Stark grin. He noticed the pained expression on his best friend’s face though, and softened up a bit. “Agh…fine fine. I’ll eat. Hell, I’ll sleep, too. Happy?”

Bruce just smiled and nodded, turning on his heel and exiting the room.

“You’re welcome.” The billionaire mumbled under his breath, setting his tools aside and making his way to the door. He was just about out of the lab when an all-too-familiar voice could be heard behind him.

“My, my. Well if it isn’t Tony Stark.” The voice was ice, so cold it burned. He felt eyes tearing through him from behind but he refused to turn around. He couldn’t. This couldn’t be happening again. “Tell me, how does one _mortal_ manage to escape death with such ease?”


	5. Hospital's Suck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “My, my. Well if it isn’t Tony Stark.” The voice was ice, so cold it burned. He felt eyes tearing through him from behind but he refused to turn around. He couldn’t. This couldn’t be happening again. “Tell me, how does one _mortal_ manage to escape death with such ease?”

“It’s amusing, and quite honestly, rather fun to watch.” 

“Well I’m flattered…really,” the billionaire responded as calm as he could mange, slowly turning on his heal to face the other man, “but near death experiences didn’t make my kink-list, sorry to disappoint.”

The God rolled his eyes, smirking at Stark’s snarky comment. “As much as I would _love_ to stay and prove you wrong, I am quite a busy man, Mr. Stark. I do not have time for games.”

“Then what are you waiting for, Antlers?”

Loki took slow strides to where the genius stood, dismissing the childish nickname, gripping his throat and throwing him across the room. Tony felt his back slam into one of his supply cabinets, and then his head, making the room spin for a moment. By the time he regained his focus, the man had reapproached him, a devilish grin on his face as he returned his hand to Tony’s throat, pulling him up and pressing him to the cupboard.

“What?” Tony coughed and blinked away the pain shooting through his back and head, “No foreplay?”

“I’m afraid not. You have become a pain my a-“Loki was abruptly cut off as a repulsor beam was shot at his side, sending him to the ground. As Tony was released, he sunk to the floor, scanning the room for the source of the rescue until his AI spoke up.

_“Sorry for the delay, Sir. The weapons were not ready.”_

Tony grinned, pulling himself to his feet, “Thanks for the save, J.”

_“Anytime, Sir.”_

The brunette turned to face the God, recovering from the blast and returning to his feet, anger fuming behind his eyes. He retrieved his scepter and pointed it in Tony’s direction, “You will regret doing that, Stark.”

“Um, actually that was Jarvis, right buddy?” Tony stalled as he back stepped toward his desk, distancing himself from the enraged psychopath.

_“That is correct.”_ JARVIS stated matter-of-factly.

“Thank you, for the clarification, but your pathetic…machines…cannot keep you safe. Surely you must be aware of this.” The staff suddenly began to glow a more profound shade of blue, sending a blast of some sort at Tony. He quickly ducked and rolled out of the way, allowing the energy blast to make contact with his work bench instead, flipping it over and sending it into the wall directly behind.

“Awe, come on, man! That’s not cool.” Tony whined, hoping his annoying charm could buy him some time. Wrong. Another blue orb was sent towards him, and again he dodged. Thank god he let Steve teach him a little hand-to hand combat. Even if it wasn’t his strong suit, it still came in handy. 

“At least _try_ to hit me, Reindeer Games!” He mocked, making his way to his other work bench, dodging and ducking the whole way there. He acquired the left gauntlet of his armor he had repaired earlier, as it was currently the only fully functioning part of his suit. Damn alien Gods.

Through the rising dust from the destruction of his lab (God damnit), Tony slid behind a flipped desk, hoping he went undetected, and whispered to JARVIS in his com. “Contact the other avengers, wherever the hell they are. I’m running out of ti- Agh!” His words were cut short as one of Loki’s blasts shot through the surface of the desk, clipping his left shoulder. Pain quickly spread through his arm, blood now oozing from the fresh wound. It was burned on the back of his shoulder blade, right through his shirt, and the top of his shoulder had a deep gash. The desk was strenuously kicked aside, leaving Tony to fall onto his back as the incensed God towered over him, pressing his boot to Tony’s chest to hold him down.

“I do not have time for a game of hide and seek, _Stark._ ” Loki bent down now, the pressure on Tony’s chest from his weight becoming over whelming. “Ouch, that doesn’t look so good, Anthony.” The Asgardian tenderly brought his free hand to Tony’s shoulder, only to press his fingers into the open wound and twist, smiling at the agonized screams he unleashed.

“AH…hmphr!! ST- ARGH!” Tony writhed in pain, trying to force the man off of him. It was becoming harder to breath from the pressure on his chest, and his mind was clouded from the lack of oxygen and blood. Where was that damn super soldier when you needed him? Or the assassins…or the angry green guy…or the other demi god. Seriously, where was everyone?

Tony’s thoughts were interrupted as Loki removed his hands from his shoulder, raising his scepter, ready to slam the sharp end into the genius’s chest. Tony’s eyes widened and he brought his arms up, wrapping his hands around the handle of the staff, just above the blade. He struggled to hold it away from his body, but the Asgardian was much stronger than him. It was slowly being forced down, inching closer and closer to penetrating his chest. Tony knew his actions were futile. He needed to think of something; and quick. He picked his brain for some sort of solution, but it was becoming harder and harder to focus. He managed to come to a decision, using what was left of his strength to push the direction of the blade away from his heart, to his left. Tony clenched his teeth, a deafening scream rising from his throat.

The God’s facial expression changed from angry, to annoyed. He let out a murderous laugh, snatching the billionaire’s jaw, forcing them to make eye contact. “I wasn’t planning on making this a slow, painful death, but it seems you prefer it this way.” His eyes then fell to the scepter, now pressed through the open wound in Tony’s shoulder. Blood was pouring out of it now, creating a small pool around him, some he could feel soaking into his hair. Tony turned his head as far as he could, observing the blade that had been jammed through his flesh. He grit his teeth, trying to suppress his obvious pain.

“I could d-do this all day, Rudolph.” As he said this, Loki stood, leaving Tony gasping to catch his breath on the ground, and gave his scepter one final twist before pulling it from the man’s shoulder. Blood rolled along the edges of the blade, dripping off the tip. Loki gave the genius an appalling grin, kicking the man in the chest, sending him through the puddle of crimson, into a pile of dust, tools, and what remained of one of his work benches. He could hear the crack of ribs, and could feel his shoulder throbbing and oozing blood. He sluggishly rolled onto his back, hoping the position would ease the pain. It didn’t. He was breathing heavy, his other hand sliding protectively over his shoulder, putting as much pressure on it as he could. The stab was deep, if not all the way through to the other side. The God began marching towards him again, and he prepared himself for another merciless blow. Loki brought his leg back once more, but his action was cut short as a familiar shield was thrown at full force into his hip. Tony looked over to the entrance of the lab, and what do you know? There was Captain America. Thanks, Jarvis. Tony grinned, then grimaced in pure agony. The room began to spin again, probably from all the blood loss. Tony closed his eyes. He felt dizzy. He was tired…so, so tired. He felt hands on him, tapping his cheek trying to slap him awake. It was no use. Tony let himself black out in a pool of blood on the floor, as Captain America desperately tried to shake him awake.

Throughout the entire situation, Tony fell in and out of consciousness. Steve had him in his arms, bridal style, and was carrying him to the elevator. The next time he managed to open his eye’s the entire team was surrounding him on the Quinjet, but he only got a glimpse before falling into complete darkness yet again. He was too tired to fight it anymore, and allowed himself to slip away.

 

Two days passed. Then three. Then four. Tony still hasn’t woken up, though Steve supposed that could also be a result of the medication they were giving him, but still, he was worried. They all were. Steve just wished he would’ve gotten to the lab sooner. Tony had lost a lot a blood, and he was incredibly pale by the time he arrived. He only managed to get one good hit on Loki with his shield before he disappeared into thin air. Again. Fuck.

Tony had been struggling to keep his eyes open as Steve carried him to the Quinjet, but he had fallen completely unconscious once they arrived at shield medical. The team took turns visiting and checking in on Tony, but Steve seemed to come most often. He’d sit in the uncomfortable chair that had been placed next to the billionaire’s bed, reading a book or using his Stark phone (which he still had trouble working) to catch up on everything he’s missed. The room was quiet, and Steve would have found it pleasant if not for Tony’s condition. The only sound was the steady beeping of the heart monitor, and the barely audible humming of the arc reactor in his friend’s chest.  
How had he let this happen? They were all in the tower! Loki had sent Amora the Enchantress and Skurge the executioner, but surely someone could have gone down to the lab, right? Jarvis was insisting that someone go down there, but they were all occupied and it wasn’t until the two had just…well…disappeared, that Steve could leave to help Tony. By the time he found him, there was a stab wound straight through his shoulder, and he later found out from the doctor that he had a minor concussion and 3 broken ribs, a second degree burn on his left shoulder blade, along with some minor cuts and bruises. He was expected to make a full recovery, but with all the pain killers and other medications they were pumping into him, it was anticipated that he may be asleep for a few days.

The silence was suddenly broken as Tony shifted in his bed, and a muffled groan could be heard. Steve set aside his book, moving to sit on the edge of the bed.

“…Tony?” Steve waited a moment for a response as the billionaire began to open his tired eyes. 

Tony must have had some recollection of what had happened, because Steve didn’t get a “Where am I? What’s going on?!” Instead, he got a sleepy, drugged nerd with an overly sarcastic attitude.

“Miss me, Capsicle?” The voice was hoarse and dry. And tired. So, so tired.

Steve leaned over and grabbed a glass of water the nurse had left in case he woke up. He held it to Tony’s lips, who reluctantly (but graciously) accepted it.

The cool water was refreshing as it slid down Tony’s throat. He coughed a few times once Steve had returned it to the bed side table, clearing his throat. He attempted to sit up, but immediately regret his decision as pain shot through his arm. So much for pain killers.

“Ah! Fuck!” Tony noticed Steve’s overly concerned expression, and he held up his hand to calm his nerves. “I’m fine, Steve. Really. Kinda forgot about the hole in the shoulder thing. Fucking hell, man.”

“Tony…I’m sorry. Loki had Amora and Skurge up in the communal living room to distract us. Jarvis told us you needed help immediately but they put up fight. God I am so sorry. Really I feel horri-“

“Whoa, alright, cool it with the chick flick moment, Rogers. I’m fine, you’re fine, everything’s fine.” Tony interrupted, hoping Steve would stop babbling about it. It wasn’t his fault, after all. After a moment of silence, Tony glanced back at Steve, then added, “So Loki and his er… ‘posse’ get away?”

Steve let out an exasperated sigh, “Yeah. They did. And something tells me that they really want you dead. Do you know why?”

Tony gave the Captain a ‘who do you think you’re talking to?’ stare. “Um, Cap? I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m _Tony Stark._ There are a lot of people who want me dead. And besides that my nickname used to be ‘Merchant of Death,’ I don’t know why half of them would love to see me as a corpse in a pool of my own blood.”

Another sigh from Steve. What can he say? He has that affect on people. It was true though, a lot of people wanted him gone. It’s not like it was something new.

“So…when can I go home? You know I hate hospitals.”

“Sorry to disappoint, but probably not for another few days.”

“Few days?” Really. Tony hated hospitals more than anything. Why couldn’t Brucey just take care of him? He _is_ a doctor, after all. 

“What? It’s not like it was my decision, Tony! It’s not a big deal.” 

Tony groaned in complete annoyance. Though he never told anyone exactly why he hated hospitals, he made sure to stress the fact enough to get it through his team mates thick ass skulls. He had bad memories associated with hospitals. And he was usually in them as a result of his father. At least when he was a kid. So no, Tony did not enjoy hospitals. Because hospitals meant injuries. Injuries reminded him of Howard. And Howard was a sore subject in Tony’s eyes. Thinking of Howard Stark was not good now, nor had it ever been. Therefore, hospitals = bad. And man, was it just him or was it really hot in here? And was it also just him or was it kinda hard to breathe? Oh no.

“Tony? Tony, are you alright? Is this another panic attack?” Steve’s alarmed voice was the last thing he heard before slipping into complete darkness. Again.


	6. A lot of Work

He blinked a few times, trying to register what was happening all around him. When he was met with a bright light being shone directly into his eye, he settled on keeping them closed for a while longer. His head was pounding; he could hear voices but he couldn’t comprehend what they were saying. He tried to speak, but his throat was dry from lack of use. His lips felt chapped and there was an excruciating pain in his left shoulder. Right… his shoulder! What was it again? 

“Mr. Stark, can you hear me?” Okay, he definitely didn’t recognize that voice.

“Tony?” Ah, there it was. That was comforting.

Tony felt his lips pull into the slightest grin, his eyes opening once again. Where was he? It was white, everywhere. White light shining through white pane windows onto clean white floors and walls. No… not white walls, a very light blue.

He let his eyes scan the room further. 

More blue. Except…more welcoming. Icy blue orbs, to be exact, and the dirty blonde hair to match. It was a nice view, he had to admit.

Wait. What? 

Jeez, how hard had he hit his head? Right! His head. Workshop, Loki, scepter, shoulder.

“Hospital…right.”

“Mr. Stark,” the unfamiliar voice shook Tony from his dumbfounded daze, “how are you feeling? You passed out earlier. How many fingers am I holding up?”

Nope. Not doing this right now. Tony rolled his eyes (ow) and held up his signature peace sign, which quickly molded into another not-so-friendly hand gesture. “I’m fine, jeez let a guy wake up in peace.”

The doctor took one last glance at him, obviously not in the mood to deal with his ungrateful patient, and left the room with a single nod to Steve.

“Steve?” Tony rubbed his eyes, and ran a hand through his bedraggled hair, careful to use his right arm.

“Hey, Tony.” Steve smiled a genuine, relieved smile. That made Tony happy.

Why did that make Tony happy?

“How are you feeling? You blacked out on me earlier after you had another panic attack.” Steve sounded hesitant about adding the part about the panic attack, but Tony just shrugged it off.

“Uh, yes, yeah I’m better. Sorry about that…I uh, not a fan of hospitals, I guess.” Tony’s voice was raspy and it hurt like hell to talk. “…w-water?”

Steve reached for the glass of water, handing it to Tony. He looked like a lost puppy, Steve couldn’t help but notice. His hair was matted, and there were dark circles under his eyes. There was dark bruising on his jaw and around his neck, and a cut on the right side of his forehead. Tony finished drinking, and cleared his throat, shaking away Steve’s thoughts. 

“So, home? Please. I’m getting the creeps just being here.” Tony gave an exaggerated shudder (or maybe it wasn’t? Steve couldn’t be sure.) and started to stand up. Steve pressed his hand to his chest, careful to avoid making contact with the arc reactor, and gently forced him to lie back down.

“Hang on, Tony. Look, I know you want to leave. Believe me, I do too. Just wait for the doctor to come back, let him give you a _proper_ last once over, then we’ll see. Deal?”

“Yeah whatever…we’re getting cheese burgers as soon as I get out, though.” Tony let himself grin; that famous, lopsided smile of his. Steve just chuckled and nodded, not wanting to argue with the billionaire.

“Anyway, can you go get the doc, then? Getting kinda antsy just layin’ here.”

“Yeah, sure thing Stark.” Steve gave a nod and left the room in pursuit of the Doctor Tony had so rudely dismissed earlier. He figured he should probably apologize for that, even if it was only like 5 minutes ago.

“Mr. Stark,” Tony lifted his head again a few minutes later to see Steve returning to the room, a man clad in a white coat trailing behind, “are you going to let me check you over this time?”

“Yeah, uh, sorry about that. You see I don’t really sleep much but when I do I _really_ don’t like to be woken up. Especially not with a bright flashlight shining in my eye, so that one’s kind of on you. Not that it’s your fault, I mean. I’m not a morning person, b-“

“Tony it’s 5 in the afternoon.” Steve interrupted, eyebrow raised, obviously amused by Tony’s rambling.

“Well not for me. Anyways, sorry Doc. Go ahead and check me up, I promise I’ll be good.” He couldn’t help but offer up a sarcastic wink, causing the poor man to roll his eyes.

“Hold still.” 

Doctor. Marski checked his eyes, shining the stupid flashlight into them again, and gave him a mostly all clear. He checked his vitals, and they were relatively normal, considering his standards for “normal” health conditions. After a series of physical and mental tests, Marksi finally agreed to let him go home so long as he promised to get plenty of rest and blah blah blah. Yeah, whatever floats your boat.

Tony stood once the doctor left, with Steve’s help. It was embarrassing, to say the least. Cap handed him a pair of fresh clothes he had brought for when he was released. The outfit was simple, no doubt picked by Rogers himself; a pair of black sweatpants, along with a gray T-shirt, and a black zip up jacket. He set them on the bed and started pulling his dumb hospital shirt off, when a sharp pain ripped through his shoulder, cutting his action short. God damnit.

“Are you _kidding_ me? Oh my god.” Steve turned around from the corner he was facing, trying to give Tony some privacy, when he heard the obvious sounds of struggle and frustration.

“Need some help?” Steve raised an eyebrow and chuckled at the scene in front of him. God, why did it feel like he was giving him that look?

“Of course n- Ow! Fucking Hell!” Tony’s look of determination quickly fell into one of defeat and embarrassment. His shoulder was wrapped tightly, so already it was harder to move, but Steve gathered that it was probably the stitches underneath on the front and back of it that were causing his friend pain.

There was a moment of silence before a quiet, “Okay maybe.”

Steve just smirked again and made his way over to Tony, grabbing the bottom of his shirt and pulling it over his head, carefully to maneuver around his injuries.

“Wow, Cap, it’s just like every wet dream I’ve ever had.” Steve’s cheeks tinged red, and to his surprise, Tony’s were too, slightly, but the sarcasm in his voice was evident. Steve ignored it.

Tony felt ridiculous. He felt weak. Starks weren’t weak! Nope. 

This was so awkward. What was he supposed to do with his hands? Where was he supposed to look? At Steve? No, no that’s too…intimate? Oh, it was already over. He hadn’t even noticed. Ha.

He tossed the old shirt aside, and assisted Tony in pulling the fresh one on, along with the jacket. All that was left were the pants. Oh no.

Apparently Tony noticed the look of uncertainty on Steve’s face, because he just shook his head, a childish grin on his face. “Captain, as much as you know I’d love for you to take off my pants, I think I got this part. Just the over the head thing that hurt.” He gave the soldier a knowing nod and Steve returned it, awkwardly exiting the room as if he were unsure what to do with himself.

Tony waited for the door close before changing into the fresh pants. It felt so good to be in a fresh change of clothes. He grabbed his Stark phone off the table, he figured Steve or Banner must’ve brought it for him. Huh, he didn’t even notice. He shrugged and put it in his pocket, exiting the room for the first time in four days. Finally.  
Steve stood in the hallway, leaning against the wall outside his door. He turned to face Tony once he emerged from the hospital room.

“Ready? I already talked to the people at the desk. You’re all set to go.”

“Oh my god you have no idea how ready I am. Cheese burgers now?” He gave Steve a hopeful look.

“Yes, Tony, cheese burgers now.”  
About twenty minutes later, they walked into Tony’s favorite local restaurant. He’s forced Pepper and Rhodey to go there with him countless times, but Steve has never been. As soon as they enter, the older woman at the counter gives Tony a warm smile. They obviously know each other.

“Hey, Brenda. It’s good to see you!” Tony returned the smile, striding up to the counter like he owned the place (which he quite possibly did). “Table for two? We’re kind of in a hurry, so can I just get two orders of the usual?” 

“Of course, Anthony.” She looked over Tony’s shoulder and nodded at Steve, “Right this way.”

She led them to a table by the back windows. It wasn’t particularly busy, so it was nice and quiet. Tony seemed a lot calmer, and that was good. Steve had been really worried about him lately. He was more self-destructive than usual. He’s almost died twice in the past 2 weeks, and it seemed he was always drinking. It was normal to see him drink, but lately it seemed like he was drowning himself in alcohol. Steve has learned more about him while he’s drunk than from the entire time he’s known him, which, granted, wasn’t long. He was a little surprised when he first met him at how different he was from Howard. Sure, they were both inventive and passionate about their work, but Tony was just…different. He couldn’t really put his finger on it. But he didn’t bother to think about it now. The woman, apparently her name was Brenda, returned with their meal. A half pound American cheese burger for each of them, with a side of fries. 

Tony took a bite of his burger, closing his eyes in complete ecstasy, “Oh my _god_ I’m in heaven.” 

Steve laughed at how happy a simple burger could make one man. Especially one man who could have anything he wanted at the snap of his fingers.

“What are you laughing at, Stars and Stripes? Try your damn burger and you’ll see.”

Steve sighed and gave in, taking a large bite of his all-American cheese burger. Oh my god.

“Oh my _gosh._ ”

Oh Steve, so old fashioned.

“I know, right?!”

They ate in silence for a while, savoring every last bite like their life depended on it. When they were finally done, Tony paid the bill, and gave Brenda an absurdly large tip. She smiled gratefully at him, and he just smiled. They two of them stood, and making their way out the door, the bell above it ringing as they pushed it open. 

“Tower now?”

“Yeah, I’m sure everyone is just _dying_ to greet me.” Tony smirked but started walking in the direction of Avengers Tower anyways. They were silent for a few blocks before Steve spoke up.

“So…I had a lot of time to think, you know, while you were unconscious and all. I guess I just realized we don’t really know each other.”

That was random. Why would anyone want to _know_ Tony Stark? Especially Steve fucking Rogers. Captain god damn- I mean _gosh darn_ \- America.

“Psh… Cap please. I know almost everything there is to know about you.” Tony didn’t look at Steve when he said this, but he kept on his Tony Stark smile.

“You do? How?”

“…Howard.” Steve couldn’t help but notice the hesitation in his voice, and when he said the name it was almost bitter sounding.

“Howard?”

“Yeah. Ha, god that guy never shut up about the great Captain America!” Tony grinned and accompanied his name with jazz hands. Steve was actually surprised.

“He did? I mean I heard about him trying to find me after I crashed the plane…”

“Yeah. The guy loved you.” 

Psh. Loved was an understatement. The man was obsessed. He cared more about finding Steve than his own son. He couldn’t blame him, though. Steve was Mr. Perfect, and Tony was anything but. He knew from a very, very early age that his father would never see him as anything more than an inconvenience. He was a waste of time. Time that could be spent looking for Captain America. Tony knew he would only ever be another problem to worry about. Just like Howard said.

Just like Steve said.

Steve could have sworn he heard Tony mumble something along the lines of, “a lot more than me,” under his breath.  
They walked in silence the rest of the way to the tower.

 

As soon as they stepped out of the elevator, Thor greeted them with that gigantic happy smile he always wore.

“Friend Tony! I’m glad to see you back on your feet!” He pulled Tony into a big bear hug as he said this, nearly crushing his shoulder. He tried to hold in the pain as much as he could. He didn’t want to hurt the guy’s feelings.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m alive! Great-“ The god seemed to pull a balloon out of nowhere and handed it to Tony, who accepted it with a too-happy fake smile.

“Wow! Uh, thanks, Point break, this is great. Really. I feel like ten times better now. Thanks.” He pat the man on the shoulder.

“Look who’s back and better than ever! Any cool new battle scars?”

“Fuck off, Barton.” Tony gave him a genuine smile, then nodded to Natasha who was eyeing him from the couch next to Clint. Banner was nowhere to be found. Probably in his lab.  
“Well, uh, this was nice and all. But I’ll be in the workshop if you need me.” Before Steve could object, Tony was out of the room, a blue balloon trailing close behind.

Tony entered the shop and immediately his good mood was out the window. Right. Loki.

One of his work benches was completely split in half, and another was flipped over and shoved against the far wall. There were papers and blue prints everywhere, along with broken coffee mugs and smoothie cups. Everything was covered in a thick coating of dust.

Oh no.

“Dum-E?! Hey buddy, you here?” 

It was silent for a moment before a familiar, but struggling whirring sound could be heard from his back room where he kept his spare arc reactors. Tony made his way back there through the rubble and opened the door. Thankfully this room was intact. 

“Dummy! Good, you’re okay! Had me worried there, buddy, don’t do that. U around?”

The robot whirred what he assumed was an apology, and gestured (if robots could even gesture) to the other side of the back room. A moment later came U, and Tony let out a sigh of relief.

“Good boy. Help me clean this up, guys? We got a lot of work to do, and I got a bad shoulder. Just start with the blue prints, yeah?”

There was a noise of understanding before Dum-E and U began poking through the debris, grabbing crumpled up papers and setting them aside in the neatest pile that bots could manage.

Tony took in the scene around him for another minute.

He had a _lot_ of work to do.


	7. Movie Night

“Where the hell is Shell head?

Natasha rolled her eyes at Clint’s whining, flicking his forehead. “Where do you think?”

“Ow- okay, not nice!” He made his most innocent pouty face at her, before realizing she wouldn’t give in that easy and sinking back into the couch cushions.

Bruce stood from his chair, heading towards the elevator, “I’ll get him.” He stepped in and leaned lazily against the wall as the doors closed.

 

“A little to the left... right there! No! No, a little less…there you go!” 

“Um…Tony?” Bruce said as he entered the lab, “Who are you talking- Whoa. How the hell-“

“Did I get this cleaned up so fast?” Tony interrupted with a sly grin, leaning into his desk chair. “I was planning on upgrading the lab any way. Already had some plans, and I got Dum-E and U here to help out. Right guys?” 

The robot’s whirled around from where they were apparently hanging an Iron Man poster, whirring what could only be described as happy noises. 

“Really Stark? An Iron Man poster?” Bruce raised an eyebrow at his egotistic friend, who in return only shrugged, stating that it was modern art.

“I can get you a Hulk one if you w-“

“I’m fine, thank you, Tony.”  
“If you say so.” The genius stood from his chair and made his way over to his new workbench, grabbing a few tools and his Iron Man helmet. 

Bruce cleared his throat. 

Why did Bruce clear his throat? Did Tony forget to help him with an experiment? No, no Jarvis would have reminded him. Maybe he’s getting on his ass about sleeping and eating again? But he did eat, a few hours ago actually. So what’s the problem?

“Um, so, can I help you?” He returned to his chair, setting his helmet on the desk and opening the face plate, “Because I’m a little busy… I mean I lost a few days of work and I had to repair the workshop and all so…” His voice trailed off as he began tinkering with the head piece, realizing that he probably didn’t care about what was on his To-Do list.

There was a moment of silence before Bruce spoke up, “Do you ever feel like you’re _forgetting_ something?”

Was Bruce Banner _mocking_ him?

“I don’t thi-“ 

Wait a minute.

“Jarvis, what day is it?”

_“It is Friday, Sir.”_

Fuck. Friday, of course; movie night.

Tony turned in his chair to face Bruce, an apologetic grin on his face, “Oops. Not my fault. I was unconscious!”

“Let’s go. It’s Clint’s turn to pick the movie.”

Tony just swatted his hand at Bruce in a ‘whatever’ sort of way, setting down his tools and following the Doctor out of the room.

 

They arrived at the common floor, Steve greeting them, or to be more exact, Tony, with a quirked eye brow. What? Was there something on his face?

Probably.

“I uh, I should probably change first. Can someone…?” Tony gestured to his left shoulder as he said this, recognizing that it was self explanatory why he needed help dressing.

Steve stood from his spot on the couch, herding Tony into the elevator, “Yeah, alright, let’s just hurry up.” His tone was sarcastic but Tony could see his cheeks were the slightest bit red.

Steve followed Tony to his bedroom on his personal floor. They stepped into the room and Steve stood quietly, leaning against the wall while Tony gathered a change of clothes. The soldier took the opportunity to study his friend’s room. Three of the four walls were a soft gray, but the one wall where the bed was pressed against was red; a similar shade of red to the Iron Man suit. The windows were large and revealed a beautiful view of New York, and the desk near the window had an assortment of smaller projects, more than likely just tinkering. He watched as Tony tossed a black shirt onto to the bed, along with black sweatpants and a black sweatshirt.

“That’s quite the variety of colors, Stark.” Steve teased, as if just now realizing Tony mostly wore black.

“Since when are you Captain Sarcasm?” Tony retorted, discarding the black shirt back into his closet, and pulling out a Captain America T-shirt. It was dark blue, and had the design of his shield printed on it. Steve couldn’t help but grin.

“This better suit your style, Cap?” He tossed the shirt at Steve.

“Why do you own this?” He smirked and began to help Tony remove his oil soaked shirt, careful as not to further injure his shoulder.

“I got one for all of you, why not?” His smart ass smile being revealed after the shirt was pulled away. Steve sighed and pulled the Captain America shirt over Tony’s head, the glow of the arc reactor almost centered with the star of his shield.

“Thanks, Cap’n. I’ll be down for movie night in a minute.” 

Steve nodded and exited the room, returning to the communal floor.

Once the super soldier exited the room, Tony removed his jeans and pulled on the sweat pants, then finally the jacket. He proceeded into his bathroom, opening the cabinet underneath the sink. He rummaged around for a moment before grabbing a wash cloth. Closing the cabinet, he turned on the faucet, wetting the cloth with cool water. He hesitated for a moment. He hates cold water, but one look in the mirror told him it was necessary. There were smudges of motor oil and dirt on his forehead and cheeks, and his hair was a mess.

“Whatever.” He mumbled sourly as he brought the wet rag to his face, wiping away the sweat and dirt. Once he finished, he grabbed a comb off the counter top, running it through his hair. He had to at least try to look presentable, right?

He took one last glance in the mirror and exited the bathroom, grudgingly making his way to the elevator.

“The common floor, J”

 

“Alright Bird Brain,” Tony said this with a sigh as he took his usual seat on the couch, next to Steve, “what are we watching? And _please_ don’t tell me it’s going to be the Hunger Games again.”

Clint cracked a small smile and shook his head, “No, not this time. I just found out Rogers has never seen Star Wars! I mean we spend all this time trying to catch him up and the man’s never seen _Star Wars!”_

Tony turned his head to look at Steve, who frankly just looked confused. 

“Oh my god, you’re right, Katniss. Look at him! He has no idea what we’re talking about. We’re such horrible, _horrible_ people ohmygod.”

“What’s Star Wars?” Steve raises an eyebrow at Tony, obviously not understanding what the big deal is.

“Oh my god, Steven Grant Rogers you have no idea. What order should we watch them in though?” Tony turned to look at Clint, who in return just shrugged.

“What do you mean ‘what order’? Aren’t you supposed to watch things from the first episode?”

“Rogers, it’s complicated okay? There are 3 prequels and 3 sequels, but the sequels were made first so they’re from the original trilogy. There are some spoilers though so it’s confusin- you know what. Just trust me.”

Steve held his hands up in defeat, laughing at the billionaire’s attempts to explain how the movie works. He understood none of it.

“J, what’s the best order to watch the movies?”

_“It would seem the best one to watch first would be IV, A New Hope. Would you like me to play it sir?”_

“Sure, buddy. I’m trusting you on this one.” Tony stood and walked over to the bar, grabbing a bottle of scotch and a glass. He poured some for himself and returned to the couch, bringing the bottle and setting it on the coffee table. Steve eyed him and Tony just shrugged.

“I do not understand this system of order?” Thor’s booming voice echoed through the living room.

“Don’t worry about it Goldilocks, just watch.” As Tony said this, the big yellow letters began rolling onto the screen, and Clint began to read them in the deepest voice he could manage. That got a laugh out of Steve.

Tony smiled and leaned back into the couch just as Clint finished reading. He had already downed his first glass of scotch, and was onto his second. No one seemed to notice his continuous drinking throughout the movie, not even himself. He had to be on his 6th or 7th glass once they were halfway through, and he noticed it was getting a little harder to focus his eyes on the screen.

He turned to Steve, his eye’s glossy and a playful smile on his face, “How d’you like it, hm?” he whispered to Steve, his words slurred.

Steve turned his head, instantly noticing the genius’s change of tone, “Tony? Tony, are you drunk?” He whispered back, a hint of both amusement and anger in his voice. 

“Of c’rse not! I’m just a little…tired… M’ fine.” 

The billionaire yawned and let his head fall lazily onto Steve’s shoulder, bringing his other hand around his waist as he dozed off. Steve stiffened for moment, and Natasha smirked at him. Tony was breathing softly by Steve’s ear, but he didn’t have the heart to wake him. He’s had a long week. Steve just settled in and continued to watch the movie, ignoring the glances he was getting from Natasha.

The movie ended and Steve had to admit, he really enjoyed it. Clint promised him they would watch the rest of them soon. He was about to get up when he remembered the sleeping Tony Stark snuggling up against him. Clint shrugged at him, leaving the common floor; arm slung lazily around Nat’s waist, similar to what Tony was unknowingly doing to him.

The rest of the team soon followed, leaving Tony and Steve alone on the couch.

He couldn’t wake him, right? I mean, this is probably the best sleep he’s gotten all week. Maybe the only sleep he’s gotten. Steve couldn’t do it, so he just laid back a little more, letting himself drift off as well, his head sliding onto the billionaire’s head beside him, which was still resting on his shoulder.

 

A few hours later, Tony woke up only to find he was lying on the couch in the living room, not his workshop; which was weird for him, because the only couch he ever slept on was in his shop.

Oh, and Steve was there.

‘Why the hell is Steve here? My head hurts, too. Oh no, I must have been drinking… Please don’t tell me I made a move on Captain America.’ Tony’s thoughts were running wild, and he immediately brought his hand to his chest, just over the reactor. Oh thank god, his clothes were still on. Good. That’s good.

He stood hastily but careful as not to wake the sleeping super soldier on his couch. Once he was free and no longer entangled around the guy, he all but ran to the elevator.

“Jarvis, workshop. Now, please.”

_“Of course, Sir.”_

As soon as the lift’s doors opened, Tony rushed out and into his lab. 

His head was throbbing, but he didn’t care. He felt weird; he just slept next to Captain America.

Oh god. Tony steadied himself against his work bench. Why was he so worked up about this?

“God I need a drink.” He shuffled over to the miniature kitchen he had added when he upgraded his workshop, grabbing a bottle of whiskey off the counter. He opened it without a moment of hesitation, taking a swig instantly. He swallowed hard, letting the liquid slide down his throat, leaving that familiar warm sensation in his stomach. He grabbed another bottle, just in case, and made his way to his desk. He walked slowly, stopping every so often to regain his balance. He was still a little tipsy from before, and already consumed a good few gulps of the whiskey, so it was a bit of work to make it to his destination. Once there, he sat on the ground, sliding himself beneath the desk.

“J… do me a favor…d-dim the lights, pl’s.”

The lights dimmed. That was better. 

He took another swig of his whiskey, setting the bottle aside for a moment so he could reach his hand out to a box he had tucked away in the shadows of his work bench. He grasped the side and slid it closer to him. He began to rummage through its contents; a few pencils, some paper he couldn’t care less about, some old Captain America comics, his old notebooks, and some pictures.

He grabbed one of the photos, this one in a frame. It was a family photo. Of his…”family.”

He grabbed the bottle of whiskey off the ground and replaced it with the frame, taking another gulp of the burning liquid. He took a few more sips, all the while staring at that damn picture. 

It was black and white, though it probably could have been taken in color at the time. Staring back at him was Maria Stark, a younger version of himself (probably about 10), and Howard Stark.

Howard’s hand was clasped over little Tony’s left shoulder, and small glint of pain pulsed through adult Tony’s shoulder as he noticed this, but he just ignored it, taking another swig from the bottle.

The billionaire continued to eye the photo for a long time, particularly Howard. He felt as if he were having a staring contest he knew he couldn’t win, but he couldn’t look away. He was only taken away from his cold stare once he realized his bottle was empty. Sighing, he grabbed the extra bottle, screwing the top off and throwing it across the room as he brought the glass rim to his lips. He swallowed, and continued glaring at Howard Stark. His vision was blurry, and he was barely keeping his head up, but it seemed only that one man was in focus; and he hated that one man. Memories of his father flashed through his mind; the man towering over him, fist raised or hand ready to slap him. He remembered the way he would just take it, because he had no choice. He was a waste of time. He was worthless. He didn’t deserve to be a Stark. His father was right, and he knew it. So he just…took it.

He shook away the thoughts with another swig of the liquor, just like he always has.

 

Steve awoke shortly after Tony’s disappearance. The first thing he noticed, actually, was that Tony was no longer snuggled up against him. He didn’t know whether he should feel relieved or slightly disappointed. He glanced at his watch; it was only about 3 AM. The blonde stood from the couch, stretching his muscles as he considered retreating to his room to sleep the rest of the night. He wasn’t really tired, though. Instead, he grabbed his sketchbook and pencil from the coffee table, glancing at the bottle of half empty scotch his friend had left there earlier. He sighed and made his way onto the balcony, sitting in one of the chairs and opening his book. A smile tugged at his lips as he flipped through the pages; they were littered with sketches of the team and the New York Skyline. He stopped on a particular one of Tony which he had recently started. The billionaire was leaning over his work bench, a screwdriver in hand, tinkering with the arm of his Iron Man armor. His eyes were focused, but seemingly happy; relaxed, even. His hair was messy and tangled, and there were smudges of oil on his cheeks and his white tank top. The glow of the arc reactor could be seen through the material, slightly illuminating the space in front of it. Steve loved drawing Stark; the arc reactor was interesting to him, and he was the only one who stayed in one place long enough for him to draw the scene. He didn’t even think Tony realized his presence half the time, but that was alright. It made his drawings look natural, not like the ones of Thor or Clint, where they would pose once they realized Steve was sketching them.

He gave the drawing one last look before flipping to a clean page, and began drawing the skyline, even though he already had a number of those pictures in the book.

Not 20 minutes later, Jarvis spoke up, shaking Steve out of his trance, lifting his pencil of the paper.

_“Captain Rogers, I’m sorry to bother you, but I believe Sir may require your aid.”_

Steve sighed, standing from the chair, and walking back into the communal living room, “Where is he?”

_“In his workshop, Captain.”_

Steve nodded at the ceiling, still feeling the need to look somewhere when speaking to Jarvis, and entered the elevator, where the doors were open and waiting for him. When he arrived at the floor, he stepped out and entered Tony’s lab. The doors were unlocked, probably because of the AI, because Stark always locked the doors. 

“Tony? Where are you?”

_“Sir is currently underneath his desk, Captain Rogers.”_

“Under his desk?” Steve questioned but made his way to the work bench anyway. Sure enough, there was Tony; curled up with a bottle of whiskey, with an empty one set aside, eyes fixated on a picture frame on the floor in front of him.

“Y’know, Steven…?” Tony raised a shaky hand, pointing a finger at the picture before him. Steve followed his gesture, and let his eyes settle on the picture of Tony’s family. “He was right.”

Steve looked back at Tony, and noticed he was…crying? He was a mess. His eyes were blood shot, and there were tear tracks running down his cheeks. He was struggling to keep his head steady, and his knuckles were white as they held onto the bottle of whiskey for dear life. He tried raising the bottle to his lips, but Steve snatched it away, setting it on top of the desk as he kneeled beside the billionaire.

“Who was right, Tony?” Steve replied gently, trying not to further upset his friend.

“Howard.” Tony didn’t even glance at Steve, his eyes still glued to the picture. “M’ a worthless, waste of time n’ space…” His words were slurred horribly, but Steve managed to make out what he was saying. He moved from his kneeling position and sat next to him, leaning against the desk.

“Tony, that’s not true…” He tenderly pace his hand on the genius’s arm, but quickly pulled it away when he flinched, bring his hands up to his head, stressfully running his fingers through his hair.

“It _is_ true! Don…Don’t lie t’ me! And don’t do that!” He pulled a bit at his hair, and Steve reached up, pulling his hands away so he wouldn’t hurt himself.

“Do what, Tony?” Steve eyed him questionably, his hands still keeping Tony’s own hands at bay.

“That!” Tony wrenched his hands away from Steve’s grasp. They were shaking, along with the rest of him, and the tears were threatening to fall again.  
Steve realized what Tony had meant, and pulled his reach away from the billionaire. Steve never realized he didn’t like to be touched. But why? He glanced back at the photo on the ground, focusing on Howard; the way his hand was draped over his son’s shoulder. 

“Tony…did Howard…hit you?” Steve’s voice was hesitant, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted the answer. Howard was a good man, at least when Steve knew him. There’s no way he would have hit Tony.

But then again, people change.

Steve watched as Tony’s expression changed to one of horror. He pressed his lips into a thin line, his eyes wide and scared. Tears were streaming down his face and he couldn’t control himself anymore. He grabbed the picture and threw it across the room, the glass from the frame shattering into pieces on the concrete floor.   
Steve didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know what to believe, and he didn’t know how to help Tony. Suddenly, he felt the brunette press his face against his shoulder, wetting the material of his shirt as the tears continued pooling from his eyes. He wrapped his arms around Steve, grasping the material of his shirt as if he would slip away into nothingness if he didn’t have something to hold onto. The soldier hesitantly wrapped his arm around Tony’s good shoulder, and kept it there once he was certain the man wouldn’t shrug him off. 

“I’m so sorry, Tony. I didn’t know.”

The genius just nodded, gripping Steve tighter. They sat there for what felt like hours. Tony had stopped crying but was still shaking horribly, and his breath smelled of alcohol. 

“Do you want to go to bed?”

Tony nodded again, and allowed Steve to help him up, leaning against him for support. Steve led him out of the workshop, into the elevator, and up to Tony’s personal floor. He brought him to his bedroom, not even bothering to flick on the lights, and helped the brunette into his bed. He pulled the covers over him, and turned to leave. Before he could get out the door, a small voice spoke up, words still slightly slurred.

“Stay? Please I can’t…I can’t sleep.”

“Of course,” Steve closed the bedroom door again, pulling a chair up beside Tony’s bed, “Get some rest. I’ll be here, I promise.”

“Thanks Steve.”

As the billionaire nodded off into a restless sleep, Steve stayed. He sat quietly in the chair, listening to his friend stir beneath the sheets. He thought about Howard, and how things were before the ice. He thought about Tony, too, and he began to wonder what else he didn’t know about him; or about his relationship with Howard. So many things have changed, and it was a lot for Steve to try and comprehend. 

He found himself staring out the window, mesmerized by the thousands of lights that sprinkled New York, and was reminded why he loved drawing it so much. He then returned his attention to the sleeping genius. He was stirring every now and then, his hands gripping the sheets and holding them almost protectively over his chest. The glow of the arc reactor was dimmer but still noticeably shining through the fabric of the blankets, and it illuminated Tony’s face in the darkness. Steve yawned, adjusting his position in the chair to try and make it more comfortable, and let the captivating glow in his friend’s chest lull him to sleep.


	8. Home Alone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little Tony/Clint BROTP. You're welcome.
> 
> Love,  
> ~The Author

_Beads of water trickle down his face as he gasps for breath, unwelcomed hands gripping his hair. All too soon he’s thrust forward again, his breath rushing to the surface in bubbles, leaving him to suffer below. He’s sinking now; deeper and deeper as his lungs beg him to breathe in. He does; except there is no air. They fill with water, and he finds himself coughing, struggling to find some kind of relief. There is nothing, it’s dark, and it’s caving in on him. It’s all around him, and there’s nowhere to run, nowhere to go. It’s cold and dark and he’s all alone, the pressure on his neck having disappeared in the midst of his struggles. Slowly, a soft blue glow fills the space in front of him. He finds himself face to face with an old friend; a familiar face._

_“Obie? No…what are you doing he-“_

_His brain doesn’t even have time to process how he had managed to speak with his lungs so full of water before Obadiah’s claw like hand is pressed against his chest._

_The blue light is covered, but somehow the man is still illuminated by the gentle glow. His breath hitches, except there is no breath, and instead he coughs up water. He can no longer move; it’s like he’s paralyzed, and it all felt familiar to him. Suddenly he feels lighter, like he’s floating, but not in a good way. It’s as if a large weight had been lifted off of him; it made him feel sick. His eye’s shoot back to Obie’s, though his are fixed on the arc reactor; no longer in Tony’s chest where it belonged._

_He falls through the floor, into a pool of darkness. It was suffocating him, pulling him out of his mind and all of a sudden the pressure on his neck has returned, and he’s pulled to the surface._

He’s sitting up in his bed, now very awake. He’s dripping sweat, and his ears are ringing, worsening his already present headache. His fingers are curled tightly around the blankets, covering the familiar light from his front. Quickly he shoves them away, pulling his shirt off in one swift move. His fingers are frantically running along the outline of the reactor, assuring his mind that it’s still there. He can’t help but feel the shadow of an all too familiar pain lingering just behind the metal. He stays there for a while, gently tapping his knuckles against it as he tries to slow his breathing.

He stays like that for a while, breathing in and out. The arc reactor rises and falls along with his chest, his fingers still grazing over it.

_In and out._

He tries desperately to push the image of Obadiah towering over him to the back of his mind; where it belonged.

Once he succeeds, his breathing almost steady now, and he’s convinced himself it was only a dream, he gets out of bed as if nothing ever happened. He pulls his black Sabbath shirt on and glances at the empty chair sitting next to his bed. He frowns for a moment, and he can’t help but wonder where the super soldier had run off to, when his eye’s flicker to the night stand. He picks up a hastily hand written note and begins to read.

_“Natasha and I were called for a mission._  
_Bruce is taking a personal day and Thor returned to Asgard late last night to see if anyone can help find Loki._  
_Breakfast is in the fridge. EAT IT.  
_-Steve”__

Tony tosses the note aside, grabbing the glass and two pills that Steve had undoubtedly left for him. He tosses the pills back, washing them down with a gulp of water. He returns it to the table, grabbing a sweat jacket and pulling it on as he makes his way out the door and to the common floor.

“G’morning, Sunshine.” Clint teased from his position perched above the fridge.

“Morning Robin Hood,” Tony opened the refrigerator door and pulled out the breakfast Steve had prepared for him, “Lady Marian left you behind, hm?”

Clint rolled his eyes, hopping down onto the floor, “Very funny. And yes, she did.” He gave Tony a slight smile, and Tony returned it as he set the plate in the microwave, hitting the ‘add 30 seconds’ button. He enjoyed the way he and Barton could joke around, even if he did get on his nerves at times.

“Jarvis, baby, coffee please.” Tony leans against the counter now, thumb and forefinger pinching the ridge of his nose as if it would make his headache disappear. He had a lot of work to catch up on, and since no one was around today (for the most part), he figured he should start scratching at least a few things off the list.

“Rough night?” The archer leans against the counter opposite of him, arms crossed across his chest. He was still in what Tony assumed he had slept in; baggy black sweatpants and a white T-shirt.

“Can’t remember a thing.” He lied. He remembers everything; the whiskey, the box, Howard, the hand on his shoulder. He remembers Steve, and how he unintentionally spilled his guts to the man. Damn Alcohol. He probably told him way too much, so he’d just have to play dumb until Steve forgot about it. But as far as anyone else is concerned, he doesn’t remember a damned thing.

The coffee finishes brewing, the warm and inviting smell filling the kitchen and pulling him from his thoughts. He grabs a mug, pouring himself a steaming cup and making his way to the elevator.

“I’ll be in the shop if you need me.” He waves his hand dismissively, sipping his coffee as he walks.

“Wait! What about me? What am I supposed to do?” Clint protests in an almost child-like tone as he approached Tony. 

“Don’t you have any hobbies or something, Bird Brain?” He sounded annoyed, but made sure to add his signature grin, usually reserved for the press, to ease the tension in his voice.

“…not really?” He shrugs and Tony just sips his coffee, obviously not caring enough to suggest anything to keep him occupied. “Why don’t I just come to the lab with you? I can be like your assistant! Your new science bro, you know, since Bruce isn’t here.” When the billionaire doesn’t reply right away he adds, “Come on! I can be useful!” Just for good measure.

Tony hesitates a moment. He’s not entirely positive that Barton and potentially dangerous lab equipment is a good mix. He also still had a horrible hangover, which he was sure with Barton’s company would worsen. “Fine. Just…don’t touch anything. Kapeesh?”

“Kapeesh,” offering a mock solute, he follows the genius into the already open and waiting elevator.

 

They step out of the lift and walk down the hall to the entrance of Tony’s workshop. He types in a code and motions for Clint to follow. He pulls a seat out for him, and then proceeds to his own desk, kicking the box of mementos out of sight in the process.

“J, pull up the list please?”

Jarvis pulls up the list. Clint doesn’t quite understand what his eyes are looking at for a moment until he reads through the first couple lines.

“1. (SI) Stark phone- updates/bug fixes (1 day left)  
2\. (SHIELD) Helicarrier- improved security system design (1 day)  
3\. (Avengers) Iron Man- Armor repairs  
4\. (Avengers) Clint- poison arrows  
5\. (SHIELD) Incident Report- Nick Fury (2 days)  
6\. (Avengers) Hulk pants and com  
7\. (Avengers) Steve- Repair electromagnetic panels on gloves

Clint continues reading over the list; there were at least 30 things on it. He knew Tony worked hard to keep up with his company and the Avengers, but this was a little ridiculous. The man was gonna work himself to death before he completed everything on that list. He hadn’t really taken the time before to appreciate all he does for them. He gives them a home, food, credit cards with unlimited spending, and he keeps their equipment in shape and often upgrades them. On top of that, he still produces products for SI, and makes things for SHIELD. He needed a break; all Clint had to do was convince him to take one.

Great.

“Whoa, that’s a lot of, er…are you sure you don’t want to go play video games or something instead?” He began spinning himself around in his chair, but his suggestion went unnoticed. The genius just sat at his computer, probably doing the Stark Phone updates considering they were number one on his list. 

He works for about five minutes, going through the list of possible problems Pepper had given him and fixing them. A few adjustments here and there and he’s done. Piece of cake. He swipes his hand along the holographic list and drags the first item into the “Done” folder next to it. He moves on to the Helicarrier security designs, and get’s a disinterested sigh from his favorite archer.

“Is this all you do when you lock yourself down here for 3 days?” He’s sitting backwards on the chair now, arms crossed over the back with his chin resting in the crook of his elbow.

“This is the boring stuff, but I need to get it done eventually. Believe me, I’d much rather be working with my hands right now, not stuck at the computer.” His eyes remain on the helicarrier blue prints as he gets lost in his work. Clint just sighs and stays quiet while he works.

This was so not fun. Why did he insist on staying down here? He knows that Tony’s work is important to him, but _seriously._ Boring. He begins studying the space around him, really taking in the state of the lab. He knew that Tony had just done upgrades to everything after the incident with Loki. He noted there were a few more shelves and cabinets than before, and a new mini kitchen. There was even a bathroom with a shower. He still had his couch, but had added a few TV’s around the room. He had multiple monitors set up on his main desk, along with at least 15 coffee mugs, and there were holographic images of designs (that weren’t confidential enough to have to remain hidden) littering the room. The workbenches were covered in Tony’s projects; some finished and some still a work in progress. Tools were scattered in what most people would call an unorderly fashion, though Stark seemed to have no problem finding the one’s he needed.

“Done! Ugh finally, I hate SHIELD projects.” Tony’s voice broke through the silence, Clint returning his gaze to him.

“Really? That was only like, 20 minutes?” 

Tony just shrugged, offering a small grin as he also drags that item off the to-do list. He stood and grabbed a handful of tools off his desk, and proceeded to a table where the Iron man armor lay. Clint watched as he began working; tinkering and adjusting damaged areas of the suit. 

“Too quiet. J, playlist 3, my darling.”

_“Of course, sir.”_ Suddenly Black Sabbath filled the workshop, and Tony seemed to become more engrossed in his work. He appeared to be fixing the left boot, at least from where Clint was sitting, and it only took him a few minutes before it was repaired. He moved on to the helmet, opening it up and adjusting something on the inside. He wished he could keep up with what the genius was doing. Maybe then it would be more interesting. 

Another hour passes before Tony can cross ‘Armor repairs’ off the list. Clint’s seen enough. He needs entertainment. Now. He might explode.

“Tony, come on! Let’s go have a video game competition or something! I bet I can beat you in Mario Kart.” He whines, expecting the usual answer. He’s surprised when Tony just sighs and, shockingly, says yes.

“Are you for real? Oh my _god_ finally! No offense but your work is kind of boring.”

“It’s only boring because you don’t understand it, Cupid. Now come on, before I change my mind.”

Clint is rushing out of the workshop behind Tony as fast as he can, desperate for something fun to do. They step into the elevator and head to the common floor. 

“50 bucks says you’re wrong.”

“What?” The archer looks at Tony like a confused dog, and also because of the mention of money.

“50 bucks says I can beat you at Mario Cart.” Tony clarifies, giving a childish grin, and they shake on it.

“You’re on, Iron Ass.”

 

“Oh come _on!_ What the hell Stark?” Clint tosses his Wii remote on the couch, lightly punching Tony in the arm, “That’s like, 10 in a row!”

“I believe you owe me 500 dollars, Big Bird.” Tony rubs his fingers together greedily, tossing his remote next to Clint’s.

“I don’t have money, Stark! You let us use your money you can’t expect me t-“ His objections are silenced when he realizes Tony is laughing his ass off.

“What’s so funny, Tin-man?” Clint gives him a cold but amused glare as the billionaire clenches his gut, lying sideways on the rug as he tries to collect himself.

“Oh man,” he wipes a tear from his eye, letting one final smirk sneak past his lips, “You really think I would make you pay _me?_ That’s pure gold, Barton, really.” He grins and sits up, playfully slapping Clint at the back of his shoulder.

“Whatever. Let’s play a different game.” The archer stood and began flipping through the basket of Wii games.

“Anything in mind?” Tony peers over his shoulder, trying to see which game he’s going to pick. He stops browsing through when he stumbles across Just Dance. He holds it up with an evil grin on his face.

“Hell _no.”_

“Awe, come on Stark! Just you and me, dance off.” The look of disapproval on Tony’s face does not change at all, but eventually he gives in.

“Fine, _fine._ Whatever.”

Clint smirks and inserts the disk, returning the Mario Cart game to its case. He stands and grabs his remote as Tony pushes the coffee table out of the way to make more room.  
He begins browsing through the songs as Tony retrieves his remote as well, and stops on ‘Womanizer.’ He gets a deathly glare from his still reluctant friend, and hits select. There was no way he would lose Just Dance to Tony Stark.

The song starts and immediately Tony regrets agreeing to this game. He feels ridiculous, and he’s positive he looks it, too. He glances at Barton once or twice throughout the song, then at their score bars on the screen. His is just slightly below Clint’s, and he really seems into the game. He was even doing the moves the game couldn’t pick up, of course, giving Tony the idea to create his own system which was far more advanced. He began planning in his head as he continued following the dance moves. He was focused now, and there was no way in hell he would lose to Clint Barton.

They were practically tied by the end of the song. Tony knew he had to get perfect scores on the finishing moves to win. He checked off the scores in his head, as well as Clint's.

Tony’s was 5 consecutive perfect scores.

Clints was perfect, perfect, perfect, perfect, _okay._

Tony let out a sigh, almost leaping at his victory. “HAH! Kiss my dancing ass, Barton!”

“God _damnit._ Fuck you Stark!” Clint said this as he leaped at the man, interrupting his mini victory dance as he tackled him to the ground.

“Sore- ow! Loser!”

And that is how Steve found two of earth’s mightiest heroes that evening; entangled and twisted around each other as they wrestled on the floor, shouting the occasional insult at one another as they tried to make the other tap out in defeat. Of course, from past experiences, Steve knew that wouldn’t happen. Stark was too stubborn and Barton was just _Barton._ He sighed as he approached them, obviously gone unnoticed. 

“Alrig- _alright!_ Break it up before you kill each other!” Steve grasped each of their shoulders and pulled them apart.

“Oh, hey Cap’n. You’re uh…you’re back early.” Tony replied sheepishly as he got to his feet, rubbing the back of his neck. Steve offered a hand to Clint and pulled him off the ground.

“What’s going o-“ He stopped mid sentence as he noticed the TV screen. Their scores were still displayed, and apparently Tony had won.

“Nevermind.” Steve let out an exasperated sigh, turning on his heal for the kitchen. Tony followed behind him, and behind _him_ Clint followed.

The billionaire began poking through his stash of liquor, and settled on grabbing a bottle of scotch. Steve gave him an uneasy look, obviously recalling the previous night’s events. Tony just poured the liquid into a glass, putting on the most oblivious looking mask he had. 

He definitely, positively, did not remember anything from last night.

_“Except everything.”_ His brain shouted at him, but he just silenced it with another glass of scotch and a concerned glare from Captain America.


	9. I'm Busy

“Jarvis, are we clear?”

_“Yes, Sir…”_ Jarvis hesitantly responded into his creator’s communication earpiece, _“Captain Rogers is currently in the gym, not on the communal floor.”_

“Thanks buddy.” Tony turned around the corner from where he was hiding, giving the kitchen and living room a quick scan before entering. He made his way to the coffee machine, pouring himself a cup while Natasha made herself eggs, watching him suspiciously out of the corner of her eye as he did his best to avoid eye contact.

“Want some?” She gestured to the pan where the eggs were frying once he turned back around. She couldn’t help but notice the look of pure exhaustion on his face. He was probably in the workshop all night again. She didn’t even want to know how long he’d been cooped up down there, but judging by the oil stains smudged on his face and the oily appearance of his hair, it had to have been at least a few days. Days that most likely consisted of little to no food or sleep.

“Nah, I’m alright.” He waved his hand dismissively at her, giving her a reassuring grin, but she wasn’t having it.

“Jarvis, when’s the last time Tony ate?” 

_“Sir had an apple yesterday morning, Ms. Romanoff”_ The AI responded over the speakers this time.

Tony rolled his eyes, mumbling under his breath, “Traitor.”

The assassin quirked her eyebrow as the billionaire tried desperately to avoid her deathly glare, “You’re eating. And you’re not leaving until you do.”

“Really Nat I’m n-“ She shot him an angry look now, and he thought it would be best to correct himself immediately. “Really Natasha, I’m not hungry.” He held his hands up as she quickly reverted back to her normal, passive self, only sparing a glare and a small smirk.

“Sit.” Her eyes pierced through him like daggers until he finally gave in, lazily slumping into one of the bar stools as she fixed him breakfast.

A few minutes later, she set two plates of scrambled eggs and toast on the counter; one in front of him and one next to him. Before sitting, she grabbed the coffee pot, refilling his cup, which got her a grateful smile from Tony. She settled into the seat next to him, taking a few bites of her eggs.

“So,” She bit her toast, chewing and swallowing before continuing her sentence, “What’s going on with you lately?”

Tony just groaned, using his fork to push the food around his plate, resting his head in his hands as he slouched over the counter. 

“Ne igray s yedoy, rebenok.”

“What? Natasha we’ve talked about this, I don’t know what you’re saying.” He rolled his eyes and took a sip of his coffee, his food still untouched.

_“Sir, I believe Ms. Romanoff was trying to tell you not to play with your food, and then called you a child.”_ Jarvis translated matter-of-factly, only earning him an annoyed groan from his creator.

Natasha just gave a small smile, taking another bite of her toast, “Seriously though, what’s wrong? And eat your damn food before it gets cold, Stark.” 

Tony just held his hands up in surrender, before picking up his fork and shoveling eggs in his mouth, obviously trying to avoid the question. He remained silent as he ate, trying to ignore the assassins gaze. He realized he was running out of food, which meant he was running out of time to further stall his response. He greedily picked up his toast, chewing deliberately slow.

“Oh quit being ridiculous. Just answer the question.”

He chewed his bite and swallowed, “I’m fine, just busy. Not enough hours in the day, blah blah blah…” He trailed off as he took another sip of his coffee.

“Mhm…well, Rogers tells me you’ve been avoiding him like the plague.”

He spit up some of his coffee, choking on the rest that didn’t spray from his mouth. She hit him a few times on the back until he collected himself, eyeing him as she awaited his answer.

“What? Ha! …What? That’s…that’s crazy! Why would I…you know, do that?” He cleared his throat, sitting up a bit to try and add a bit of confidence to his lie, taking a nervous sip of his coffee.

“Rebenok.”

“Would you stop calling me a child in Russian! I am not avoiding him!” He snapped back, crossing his arms over his chest defensively.

“Avoiding who?” Clint appeared out of nowhere, sleepily shuffling towards the coffee pot.

“Roge-“

“No one.” Tony cut her off with a glare, only to get a deadlier one in return. He immediately looked away, scratching the back of his neck, awkwardly avoiding eye contact.

“You’re avoiding Steve? Why? Is it because he caught you losing our wrestling match?” Clint smirked, pouring what little was left of the coffee.

“I did not lose tha- no! Okay no. That’s not the point. The point is that there is no point, because I’m not avoiding Steve!” He face palmed and grabbed his coffee mug, getting up from his seat, “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.” He turned and disappeared into the elevator, leaving Natasha and Clint alone in the Kitchen.

“What’s his problem?” Clint asked as he started making a fresh pot of coffee, stealing what was left of Tony’s toast off his abandoned plate and munching on it.

“Oh you know him. Drama queen.” Natasha smiled at him, as he handed her a fresh cup of steaming coffee, thanking him with a nod.

 

“Jarvis, lock the doors. I don’t want to be disturbed.”

_“Yes, Sir.”_

Tony sighed and strolled over to one of his workbenches, studying the hologram of Thor’s new com that was supposed to help with the static problem when he used his lightning. It was done for the most part, just a few tweaks here and there before he started actually making it. He stared at it for a while, his eyes getting heavy. He struggled to keep them open; he had a lot of things he needed to get done, and he hadn’t slept in at least 3 days. He was too busy with work and avoiding Captain America, not that he’d admit the latter. What was he supposed to say to the guy? He ruined his view of Howard, which he felt horrible about, but in all honesty, he just wasn’t in the mood for the whole “I’m here for you,” speech. He was fine on his own; he always had been. He didn’t need help, because he’s fine, and he especially didn’t need it from Steve. He didn’t need it from anyone.  


He nodded and leaned against his desk, lost in a thoughtful daze. He didn’t need anyone. Ha. He didn’t need anyone! He mentally patted himself on the back as his brain finally began to process his thoughts. No one needed him, so why did he need them? It was a waste of everyone’s time, and it would be easier this way. He knew he never relied on anyone before, but now he was determined to deal with his own shit no matter what. He nodded again at himself, as if giving this particular decision the seal of approval.  
He felt really tired all of a sudden, the past 3 days without a wink of sleep finally catching up to him.

“J, I think I’m gonna take a nap. Hold down the fort for a bit, alright?”

_“Sleep well Sir.”_ Jarvis responded in an approving tone; relieved that Tony was finally going to get some rest. He dimmed the lights to about 15% before conducting his annual scan of Sir’s vitals, as well as keeping an eye on the Tower and its residents.

Tony strolled over to the couch in the back of the shop, lazily throwing himself down on it and drifting into a deep sleep, one arm naturally shielding his chest protectively.  


_He shielded his eyes from the blinding blue glow. It seemed like it just kept getting brighter and brighter, until it left in quick flash, leaving him surrounded by darkness._

_“Hello…?” He tried taking a step forwards, but he couldn’t move, so he stayed where he was._

_“Hello there, Tony. Sleep well, did we?”_

_“H-Howard? Is that… where are you?” He tried to look around, but all he saw was pitch black. It stayed quiet for a moment, and nothing changed until a loud humming noise filled the room. It was a familiar sound, but he couldn’t remember why. Suddenly, the bright blue light was back, but it was a small circle of light in front of him this time.  
He blinked once, opening them only to come face to face with himself; literally. He was staring at himself, the way he sees himself every time he looks in a mirror; Hair tangled and a complete mess with dark circles under his eyes, his clothes nothing more than rags, though his pants seemed to be from an old suit. He had cuts and bruises on his face, which were basked in the glow from his chest. _

_“Not quite, but you’re welcome to guess again.” He gave a wicked grin, but Tony couldn’t believe what he was seeing. It looked like him… but from his time in Afghanistan. That was ridiculous though, not to mention impossible. He was home now, and had been for years._

_“What… what’s going on? How is this possible? Where am I?” His voice was shaky as he dreaded the answer he knew was coming, but the other him just cocked his head to the side._

_“You mean you don’t know? Tony, you’re in the cave. We’re in the cave; we never left. Don’t tell me none of this is familiar to you? It should be.” The other him gave him that same, evil smile, reaching his hand into his own chest and ripping out the arc reactor, tossing it at real Tony’s feet before disappearing into the dark, the light being the only thing left of him._

_“No. No, that’s not true…the Avengers… Iron Man… it all felt so real…” There was a sharp pain in his chest, and he began to panic as he felt the shrapnel digging into his heart.  
“Please, you know that was all too good to be true, Stark. This here, this is where you belong. You know that.” The voice echoed all around him, pulling him further out of his mind, dragging him down…down…_

_“No! That’s no-“ His screams of protest were cut off by a loud buzzing, and suddenly the space around him became clear, the pain in his chest retreating._

He propelled himself off the couch, his breathing coming in short, ragged breaths. He frantically surveyed his surroundings, touching everything around him, searching for something to pull him back to earth. His fingers trailed over the metal circle in his chest, and he let out a sigh of relief, though his heart was still pounding relentlessly. It took him a moment before he noticed that the buzzing from his dream had not stopped, and he suddenly became aware of Jarvis trying to get his attention.

_“Sir? Sir! The alarm to assemble has been activated. Are you alright, sir?”_

“What…?” He took a moment to comprehend what his AI was saying before standing up in a hurry. “Oh, shit! Right, the Avengers. J, update me on the situation. What’s going on? Get the suit ready.”

_“It would appear that the Enchantress and the Executioner are currently terrorizing the city with an unknown species of alien, Sir. Motive is still unknown, but due to past encounters, I would feel the need to assume that Loki may be involved.”_

“Them again? Come on…” Tony replied as the suit folded around him, the face plate being the last to close.

 

Iron Man was the last to arrive on the helipad as the others were boarding the Quinjet. Steve was the first to notice his presence, however, and ran up to him.

“Why does it always take you so long to get ready?” He tried to sneak in a small smile through his serious tone, quickly wiping it off his face when he took in Tony’s state. He looked horrible; probably sleep deprived, he assumed.

When Tony didn’t respond he just rolled his eyes and shook his head, “Why are you avoiding me?”

“I’m not, okay? We have a job to do, can we just do it?” He didn’t wait for a reply, and instead fired up his thrusters and took off.

Tony flew to where Jarvis indicated the threat was located, landing with a ‘clunk’ on the street behind Amora and Skurge, causing them to turn around.

“Ahoy there,” He gave a little wave, lifting the faceplate of his armor, “Hello, hi. Sorry to interrupt your, uh, well, whatever this is. But seriously, guys,” He gestured around him at the group of aliens surrounding him, and the others who were destroying some of the buildings, “Not cool. I already paid a lot of money to cover damages after the Chitauri, couldn’t you be a little a more considerate?” He tried to maintain the shaky confidence and snarky tone in his voice, hoping to stall and buy the other avengers and the evacuating citizens some time.

Amora approached him with an evil grin, much like the one he’d seen on his own face in his dream, as Skurge began circling around him.

“I would apologize, but I’m afraid I had naught to do with Loki’s first attempt to conquer your realm.”

She smiled and stepped closer before he had the chance to retort with a witty comment. She was pressed against his armor, running her fingers greedily over the blue glow in his chest plate. He tried to step back, not wanting her anywhere near his arc reactor after what happened with Loki, but he had to stall; the civilians were safer while he had their attention, and the other avengers hadn’t arrived yet. When he attempted to move away, though, he felt his back hit against something, or rather someone. He turned his head and looked back, only to find Skurge glaring down at him, axe held across his chest.

“Guys, I’m all for a threesome okay but public places aren’t really my thin-“ He was cut off by a pair of lips pressing against his. He tried to turn his head but she had a grip on it so that he could only face forward. 

“…’top! Gr..’oss!” It was all he could manage to mumble past her lips, still struggling to push her off. His head started to feel funny, and he could hear her voice echoing inside. Oh no, was she trying to use mind control on him?

“…’ace ‘ate! J, ‘ACE PL-“ Apparently Jarvis understood the jumbled words enough to take the command, and the face plate shut, breaking their connection and hopefully shutting up her voice in his head.

“Eugh…lady you taste like fish.”

She gave him an angry glare as her hands began to glow an eerie green, which extended towards him resembling that of mist, wrapping around the armor and throwing him into the nearest building.

“Fuck!” He switched on his com quickly before she came to pull him out of the pile of bricks that had collapsed on him upon impact. “Any time now guys!” He shot his repulsor at her as she continued getting closer, trying to stand and get into the air where he was actually useful. “Little help here!”

“Tony? Hang on, we’re here, we just need to land. Iron Man?!” Clint’s voice rang into his com, but he was too busy mentally planning his next move to respond.  
Just as he succeeded in digging himself out and was beginning to rise off the ground, he was thrown forwards, crashing into the street head first, making a decent sized hole in the concrete before he was lifted from it by the neck.

_“Sir, there is a large gash in the back of the armor. The executioner hit you with his axe. The other Avengers are on their way, you have sustained a minor concussion, I strongly advise you fall back for now.”_

“Yeah, thanks J not really an option right now!” He raised his left arm, shooting his repulsor at Skurge before he could crush the armor around his neck, who promptly dropped him back to the ground.

Tony stumbled back onto his feet, collecting himself before rapidly shooting at the Asgardians, his HUD displaying the damage to his suit in flashing red lights as Natasha spoke into the coms.

“Tony, are you alright? We’re being held up by these aliens-“ There was a pause and a grunt as she stabbed her dagger into one of them, using its limp body to block an attack from a second alien, grabbing it and breaking its neck, “You need to get out of there. They want you, remember?” 

“I figured that much, Romanoff. I could use a little back u-“ He stopped short as Thor landed in front of him, sending a bolt of lightning at his attackers, “Nevermind.”


	10. Just Peachy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I hope you like this chapter and I'm sorry it took longer to put up than it usually does. I've had exams and I've recently lost a very close friend, so it's been tough and finding the time just isn't easy right now. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy, and please comment what you think about the story so far because seriously your comments make my day.

“Man of Iron,” Thor managed to spare a glance at him while swinging his hammer at a nearby alien, as they had formed a protective circle around Amora and Skurge, “Are you well?”

Tony was not well. His head was pounding, most likely from the minor concussion he was pretty sure Jarvis mentioned earlier. It was throbbing and the blinking lights on his helmet’s HUD were not helping, but he continued fighting nonetheless. Every so often he could have sworn he heard someone calling his name, but it was so distant and quiet that he just chose to ignore it. So he may not have been well, but he was well enough.

“Just peachy, Thor.” He aimed his repulsors at another pair of aliens, leaving a smoking hole through the center of their bodies as they fell to the ground, a gooey blue substance pooling around them; probably their version of blood.

One jumped on his back and began grabbing at his helmet, covering the eye slits and making it near impossible to see. He grabbed the hands covering his vision, pulling forward so the thing was thrown over his head. He finished it with a single blast and eventually found himself back to back with the God of Thunder, picking off the aliens one by one.

“This is great fun, friend Anthony, is it not?” Thor’s voiced boomed from behind him, and the smile on his face was unmistakably full of glee. Tony just sighed, rising into the air a bit where he knew he had the better advantage.

“Yeah-“ A piece of his armor raised on both shoulders, releasing at least 20 miniature missiles into the air, which in turn took out the remaining aliens that had formed a barrier around them, “what a blast.”

By this point the other avengers had caught up to them, all aiming their weapons at Amora and Skurge, who frankly Tony had almost forgotten about. When he looked at her, he noticed she was staring back. Eye to eye…or well, eye to eye-slits. Her glare was cold and focused, sending a shiver through his spine, which immediately became his head, only it wasn’t a shiver anymore. He landed on the ground, falling to his knees and clawing at the helmet.

“You alright buddy?” Clint eyed him with a worried expression as Tony removed his helmet, clutching his head in his hands. He was struggling, fighting something in his mind. He looked up for minute, making eye contact with Clint just as his brown eyes turned a sickly green, then a bright, clear blue.

“This has been a wonderful reunion, Avengers, but we really must be going now.” She gave a wave and another evil smile, sparing Tony one last glance.  
Clint angrily pulled back his bow, firing at the woman just as she disappeared into thin air, along with the executioner.

“GOD DAMNI-“ The archer’s yell of frustration was abruptly cut short as a metal hand wrapped around his neck. He found himself face to face with a very conflicted looking Tony Stark. He didn’t put up a fight, barely even struggled as it became harder to breath; he knew his team would have his back, but he also knew what Tony was going through. He could see the man struggling and trying to comprehend why he couldn’t control his own body behind the freshly colored blue eyes.

He was released from the grasp almost as quickly as it had happened. He fell to his knees, gasping for air, the sound of yelling voices slowly becoming clearer to his ears. He lifted his head only to see his entire team holding Tony down, Mjolnir resting on the chest plate of his armor. His arms and legs were pinned to the ground by Steve and Thor, while Natasha kneeled over him, trying to calm him down. She knew an almost sure way of how to fix him, considering her experience with Barton when he was being controlled by Loki, but didn’t want to resort to that if she didn’t need to. The hulk just stood off to the side, Bruce obviously trying to convince him to calm down from the inside.

“Stark, come on. You need to focus, calm down.” Natasha was holding his head still, shaking him lightly as if it would snap him out of it. She received a deathly glare and return, and sighed as she brought her fist up. “I’m sorry, Tony,” She gave him an apologetic look and quickly decked him in the face, instantly leaving him to spiral into unconsciousness. She gave a satisfied nod as the blue color of his eyes faded back into brown before closing. She stood, along with Steve and Thor, who retrieved his hammer off their team mate’s chest. Hulk was just changing back into Banner as the situation died down.

“He is going to be so mad at me when he wakes up.” Natasha smirked and wiped her brow, staring down at their comatose genius.

Steve gave her a sympathetic look before nodding to Thor, who slung Iron Man over his shoulder like it was nothing, carrying him onto the Quinjet. Steve helped Barton up, and Natasha assisted Bruce, leading them both onto the jet after Thor.

 

Tony remained unconscious the entire flight, and was lying on the medical bed on the jet. Bruce, now fully clothed and collected, was examining him, more specifically his head, considering he was still clad in the armor.

“Well?” Steve spoke up from where he was sitting behind Bruce, helping Natasha clean and bandage a cut on her face.

“Well, Widow definitely gave him a good punch. He has a minor concussion, but Jarvis says he got it from Amora, not Natasha, though he’ll definitely have some bruising from that.” Bruce turned to look at the Captain as he spoke, lending a reassuring nod. “From what I can tell, he’ll be fine. There may be small injuries beneath his armor, but nothing life threatening.”

Steve nodded just as he finished patching up Natasha. She thanked him and left to the cockpit, taking a seat in the co-pilot chair next to Clint.

 

“Just set him on the couch, Thor. Jarvis?”

_“Yes, Doctor Banner?”_

“Is there any way you can remove the armor?” Bruce fiddled with the Iron Man helmet in his hands that Tony removed earlier, setting it on the coffee table with a clink.

_“Of course, though I would ask that you help Sir return to the couch once it is removed.”_

“Return to the co-“ Bruce’s question is cut off as the armor activates by Jarvis’s influence, standing up with Tony still wearing it. The pieces begin to disassemble from around the genius’s body, the far wall of the common living room opening up.

Steve watches with complete and utter disbelief on his face as the armor, now reassembled without Tony inside, flies to the opening and deactivates. He looks back at the unconscious billionaire being laid back onto the couch by Thor as the wall closes up.

“Sometimes you really forget how much of a genius this guy really is,” Clint comments, smirking at the look on Steve’s face. 

Steve replies with a nod as he collects himself, grabbing a blanket and tossing it over their team member.

“Jarvis, keep an eye on his vitals and let me know if there’s any problems.”

_“Will do, Doctor.”_

Clint glanced around the room at his team; they were all dirty and looked completely exhausted. His stomach gave a low growl, and all eyes turned to look at him. “Uh, take out anyone?”

“Chinese, please.” Natasha gave a very slight smile and walked out of the room to go get cleaned up.

_“The usual, I presume?”_ The AI chimed in from out of nowhere.

“Yes please.” Clint replied, and the rest of the team nodded, heading to the elevator behind Natasha, leaving Tony to sleep on the couch.

When Steve, Clint, Thor, and Bruce returned to the common floor, Natasha was sitting on the couch next to Tony, dressed in sweatpants and T-shirt, reading a book.

“Someone looks comfortable,” Clint said as he slid next to her, taking up the rest of the space on the couch. The others were about to take their seats on the other sofa when Jarvis spoke up again.

_“All of your food has arrived and is waiting for you in the lobby.”_

The three men stood, Steve looking expectantly at Clint, who just shrugged.

“I just sat down. You guys can carry the food righ- ow!” He turned to look at Natasha, who had just cuffed the back of his head.

“Go help them.” She glanced up at him from her book, and immediately he stood, ushering the others into the elevator.

Once the lift doors closed, the room was peaceful and quiet, the only noise being the genius’s low breathing and the hum of his arc reactor; it wasn’t by any means loud, but it was definitely audible if you listened. She set her book aside and began to study him as he…”slept.” There were fresh bruises forming where she had punched him, and there were tired bags under his eyes, just like this morning. She realized that he still hadn’t slept much, if at all, since then, and that this was probably the first time he’s actually been asleep in 3 or 4 days. It was nice to see him finally getting rest, even if the circumstances of why he’s asleep aren’t by choice. 

The silence didn’t last long, and was soon broken as the other avengers emerged from the elevator, carrying bags and bags of Chinese food.

“We come baring a feast fit for celebration of victory!” Thor’s voice echoed through the room, and Natasha stood from the couch, following them into the kitchen.

 

_“Anthony…” The voice echoed through his mind as he became aware of his surroundings._

_“Hello, Stark. It’s nice to see you again.” A woman appeared in front of him, though she seemed…transparent. He brought out his hand to touch her, trying to test his observation, but she disappeared, leaving his name to echo and bounce of the walls of his brain once again._

_“What is this? Who…”_

_“Who am I?” There was a snicker, and the woman reappeared, accompanied by her green aura, “How hard did that little red head hit you?”_

_Red head? Did she mean Widow? That’s right… he vaguely remembers her knocking him out. He couldn’t remember why though. “She hit me?”_

_“So clueless,” the woman strode up to him, teasingly running her fingers along his jaw, “Perhaps this will jog your memory?” She began to lean in for a kiss, and all of a sudden the memories came rushing back to him. No. Amora could not kiss him; he wouldn’t let her. He shoved her off, staggering back a few steps as she disappeared in a green fog._

_“We’ll meet again,” Her voice echoed again in his head, getting louder and louder as if it were getting closer. He felt claustrophobic, like his mind was closing in around him. He was drifting into complete darkness. He hates the dark. It’s always cold when it’s dark; cold and wet._

_Suddenly his back collides with a liquid surface; it stung for a moment, and soon enough he began sinking. It was black, but he could still see bubbles of air rising to the surface from his lungs._

_That’s it! The surface!_

_He followed the direction of the bubbles, frantically kicking and pushing himself upwards. He felt about ten times heavier, but he pushed on. He began nearing the top, his lungs nearly out of air as he struggled in the cold water._

_‘Tink.’_

_No. No, no this can’t be right. He fell down this way, how could he be trapped? He began pounding his fists against the glass that was restricting his access to the surface. There was a sick green glow from above, and he could see his reflection staring back at him in the glass. Quickly it morphed into Amora, then Loki. They each gave him an evil smile, before the glass shattered into a million pieces._

_There was a sharp pain in his chest as glass shards dug their way inside; it was a familiar feeling. He looked down, but there was no blood. A hole began to open in his bare chest, resembling the wormhole he had flown into in New York. The blue glow of the portal swirled around in his chest, leaving him with an agonizing ache, before it slowly turned into the arc reactor he had grown accustomed to seeing embedded in his body. There was a flash a bright white light, before he disappeared; completely swallowed by his thoughts._

 

The team (minus Tony) sat at the kitchen table, each munching away on their Chinese food, Clint occasionally throwing in a bad joke or two. Tony was still passed out on the couch, as he had been for the last hour or so. Fury had already called them before they started to eat, and they agreed to come in and discuss the incident that had occurred earlier tomorrow afternoon.

Though Stark rarely left his lab to eat meals with them, it was still oddly quiet and the atmosphere was tense. Clint’s horrible attempts at humor were obviously forced, as well as Thor’s laugh. Bruce was just purely exhausted, and was shoveling food into his mouth; the Hulk made him incredibly hungry. Natasha was quiet, as usual, but so was Steve, which was not so usual. He wasn’t the easiest person to talk to, considering the difference in time thing, but he usually made attempts at making conversation. So to say the least, it was quite uncomfortable.

The awkward silence was soon broken though, as a blood curdling scream became audible from the living area. Bruce nearly jumped out of his seat, and had to take a moment to calm himself. They all eyed each other, running out of the kitchen area and into the living room.

“What the hell…?” Clint had to admit he had no idea what he was seeing, but for some reason it made him feel absolutely horrible.

Tony was kneeling on the floor beside the couch, one hand on the ground supporting his weight as he desperately tried to catch his breath, and the other was clutching his chest, just barely covering the arc reactor. His eyes were wide, his face was beaded with sweat, and he was mumbling panicked phrases between struggled breaths.

“Water…cold water…couldn’t breathe….can’t...can’t breathe…”

“Stark? Hey, come on…snap out of it!” Steve slowly approached him, reaching his hand out to the genius. 

“GET AWAY FROM ME!” Tony’s voice was gruff but he yelled nonetheless, causing the super soldier to jump back in surprise. “Get away! You can’t have it!” He was sitting now, lazily leaning on the couch for support, though his shoulders were still tense, and the hand that had been supporting his weight was now pressed to his forehead. “Blood…I got them all killed…I killed them…Yinsen…Oh god Yinsen…I’m sorry I’m sorry _I’m sorry…”_

His words began to trail off into inaudible mumbling as Natasha approached him, the rest of the team remaining a considerable distance from the billionaire.

“Tony…Shh, it’s okay. You’re home now, you’re safe.” Her voice was so soothing it was almost motherly, and though it was obvious that the genius was still freaked to hell, he was noticeably beginning to calm down. He allowed her to wrap him in a loose hug, and followed her instructions when she told him to match her breathing. 

In and out.

They had to be breathing together for at least ten minutes before Tony was settled down. His hand was still covering his reactor, but the attempt to hide it had become more of a nervous tapping, as if assuring himself it was still in place.

“Home…”

Natasha nodded, and Steve stepped closer now as Tony was brought back to reality.

“Tony…? Are you alright?”

The mechanic looked at Steve, and his face was, for a split second, a horrifying mixture of complete shame and helplessness. It made Steve, or anyone who looked at him at that moment, want to wrap him in a hug and tell him it was okay.

“M’ fine…” His voice was tired, and he was undoubtedly exhausted from sleep deprivation.

Bruce approached now, gently placing a hand on his best friend’s shoulder, “Come on, lets get you to bed.”

The billionaire just nodded, too tired to even argue. His head was pounding and though he knew if he fell asleep again there would just be more nightmares, he didn’t care. He allowed Banner to help him up, and support him as they walked towards the elevators, leaving the rest of the avengers alone in the living room, completely and utterly confused. 

Clint stepped towards Natasha once the lift doors pinged shut, looking at her for an explanation.

“Again. What the _hell?”_


	11. Not Magic

“Care to explain?” Clint crossed his arms over his chest, his face stern and jaw set.

“I don’t believe it’s my place to tell Stark’s life story. You’ll have to take it up with him.” Natasha was glaring daggers at the archer now, causing him to soften his gaze.

“Nat, come on… the man just had a full blown panic attack, mumbling some fucked up shit about blood and killing people and some dude named Yinsen or whatever the fu-“

“I said it’s not my place, _Clint.”_

“But-“

“Natasha is right, Barton. Tony is very private, we all know that. He was kind enough to give us a home and he works his ass off for this team; the least we can do is respect his privacy.” Steve cut him off, hoping to calm him down before Natasha murders him. He doesn’t know much about Tony, but what he does know is mostly bits and pieces from the conversations they’ve had while the billionaire was completely drunk. The other pieces were from Widow, but even she didn’t know much about Stark. He keeps nearly every personal thing that isn’t common knowledge out of his SHIELD file, so it was considerably difficult to learn about him unless he told you himself.

There was a moment of silence while the archer considered the Captain’s reasoning. He still didn’t like just brushing this off, but he couldn’t force them to explain anymore than he could Tony. “Fine, if he doesn’t want to talk about it, I won’t force him, okay?” With that, the archer left the room for his own to turn in for the night.

Thor, after helping the assassin and the super soldier clean up the left-overs of their meal, also left for his room, leaving Natasha and Steve on the common floor. Natasha had returned to her earlier spot on the couch, reading her book with a blanket draped over her lap. Steve sat on the other couch, taking advantage of Natasha’s quiet company by sketching her in his sketchbook. He knew she didn’t mind, or at least he hoped not. She was often hard to draw though; her expression hard to capture on paper. When she was like this though, curled up on the couch with a book, it was easy to see her usually tense posture relax a bit, and though she was always on guard, she seemed more comfortable than usual.

The time passed slowly, and they had only been sitting in silence for about 20 minutes until Steve couldn’t help but ask the question that had been bothering him since Bruce brought their genius to bed.

“Will he be okay?”

Natasha didn’t seem to even acknowledge his question for minute, but he knew that she heard him. The truth is; she wasn’t entirely sure if Stark could ever be ‘okay,’ but that doesn’t mean he couldn’t get better. Out of everyone on the team, she knew the most about him, but even she only knew the general details. Sure, she knew more about Afghanistan than the others, and she was sure she was the only one besides Rhodey, Pepper, and Fury that knew about the past palladium poisoning problem; but she didn’t know any _details_ , and that’s what bothered her. As far as she could tell, Steve didn’t know anything at all about Tony either, except that he was Howard Stark’s genius son, until Loki reappeared. Since he returned, it seems that Tony’s been slowly falling apart, and it seems that Steve or someone on the team is usually there to pick up the pieces the best they can. 

“Natasha?”

She bookmarked her page, standing from her position on the couch, and set the book on the coffee table. She met his expectant gaze, and finally repaid him with an answer.

“He’s Tony Stark. What do you think?” She gave him a small smile, and left the room, leaving him with his thoughts.

 

The next morning, Steve awoke from a rather fitful night of sleep. He kept repeating the assassin’s vague answer over and over in his head until eventually it lulled him to sleep; not that he slept soundly. He’d been awoken throughout the night by nightmares of the ice, the plane crashing and Peggy’s voice. But he would also dream of Tony’s panicked mumblings, and would be faced with the question yet again; will he be okay?

_'He’s Tony Stark. What do you think?'_ He had to have whispered the same words to himself dozens of times that night, and again during his morning run. Surprisingly, the genius was still fast asleep from when Bruce took him to his room last night. Natasha was the only other person awake when he left. 

Once outside, he took his usual course, just like any other day. But it felt different; like he wasn’t actually doing it. It felt like muscle memory or something of the sort. His body was running but his mind was far away. Tony had to be alright, right? He’s Tony Stark. But what does that mean, exactly? Steve was still a bit new to the 21st century, and although he did research on Tony after being unfrozen from the ice and learning of Howard Stark’s death, he still didn’t know everything he would like to about the son of his old friend. All he knew was that he used to make weapons, but decided on shutting down the weapons production of his company after returning from Afghanistan. He has the arc reactor in his chest to keep him alive, which Natasha explained as well as a few minor details about his three months in captivity, and he also knew that Howard was a horrible person, contrary to what he originally believed. After learning about Howard following his disappearance, he wished he could go back in time and punch him square in the face, but he knew he could never bring it up with Tony. He was never meant to hear about Tony’s childhood; he knew the billionaire never had any intention of telling him, for whatever reason, and the fact that he knew about some of it was accidental. So unless he was ever approached with the subject by Tony himself, he told himself he wouldn’t bring it up out of respect.  
Soon enough, Steve was back at the Tower without ever feeling like he left. He certainly looked like he went for a run, and he knew that he did, but he certainly didn’t feel it. When he stepped out of the elevator and into the living room Natasha greeted him with a small nod as she took a sip of her coffee. He marched up to her, looking her square in the eye.

“Tell me everything you know about Tony.”

“Steve…” She set down her mug and crossed her arms over her chest, “You said it yourself, Stark is very private. I won’t tell you anything, and even if I did, I don’t know much more than you do.”

“Natasha-“

“I won’t. Let it go.” She gave him a deathly glare and returned to her coffee. 

Right; Respect his privacy Rogers. If he wants to talk about it he will.

…Right?

 

Tony lay staring up at his ceiling, contemplating whether or not he really wanted to get out of bed this morning. He had gotten 6 hours of sleep, which was a lot, considering it’s him. He really wasn’t tired anymore; he felt well rested after 4 days with no sleep. There were so many ideas for projects he could be working on just filling up in his head, but he knew if he got up he risked one of the Avengers seeing him. That was the last thing he needed right now.

He felt pathetic. His entire team had seen him completely break down and mumble some crazy psycho shit; they probably thought he was a maniac. What if they thought he was too “unstable” to be on the team? 

Oh god.

What if they kicked him off the team? He would never admit it to their faces but the Avengers were everything to him; it was everything he had. What would he do if he lost them? He had already lost Pepper, which he completely understood why she left him, but it still hurt like hell. What if it was happening all over again?

He had to suck it up. He had to deal with his own shit, on his own. He refused to lose them; refused to let Howard or Obie or the Ten Rings or Loki ruin this for him. He wouldn’t let himself fall under one of Amora’s spells again either. They probably didn’t trust him much after that, what with almost _killing ___Clint. He felt horrible about that. He tried so hard to fight it but he just couldn’t; he wasn’t strong enough.

_He_ wasn’t enough. 

If he couldn’t be enough on his own, then he’d make sure the others could. He was already making the plans in his head, and it was motivation enough to sneak out of his room and into his lab. 

He had an Iron Man contingency plan to create. 

Once he managed to make it to his workshop undetected (hopefully; he does live with two spies), he immediately sat down and got to work. Loki and Amora were still out for his head, for whatever damn reason, and that meant mind control in the future was very much so a possibility. He wasn’t entirely sure how to stop the actual control from happening in the first place. Admittedly, he hadn’t quite figured out how Asgardian science worked yet. 

_Science._

Not magic. 

So, if he couldn’t stop the mind games, he’d make it so that his team had a way to bring him down if necessary. Since Clint was the one he almost killed, and has past experience with mind control, he decided on making the birdie in charge of shutting him down. While lying in bed that morning, he had been designing an arrow in his head that would completely short out his armor, without harming the arc reactor in his chest. That way, there was no command to JARVIS that could be over ridden in some bullshit way, and he knew Clint wouldn’t miss nor would he hesitate. 

_'See? He could be responsible.'_

“Jarvis, we’ll save this design under Avengers; Hawkeye; nowhere else. I’ll be damned if SHIELD ever got a hold of this shit.” 

_“Of course, Sir.”_ Once the AI was silent, Tony’s music began blaring through the lab speakers without him even having to ask, and he couldn’t help but let a faint smile tug at his lips. 

No one knows him better than JARVIS. 

He continued working and improving on the design for the rest of the day, and the night. Once he had it the way he intended it to be, he began working on the actual construction of the arrow. JARVIS informed him once or twice of Steve or Bruce requesting access to the shop, but he denied each time. He was so focused for the first time in a week or two, and it felt nice. His shoulder was healed by now, though it was sometimes a bit stiff, and the bruising on his face from Natasha was beginning to heal, even if it still hurt like a bitch. Not that it mattered; all he really needed was his hands. They had been itching for something to do, just like his brain. He had so many things to work on, and finally being able to create something was just so _nice._

He spent a total of 3 days, 19 hours, and 23 minutes down in his lab (according to JARVIS) before he had a quiver’s worth of Anti-Iron Man arrows completed. He had tested the first one on the second morning, and it worked beautifully, of course. He made it, after all. After that, he made sure that Clint would have enough so that he wouldn’t have to make them again for hopefully a while, assuming they didn’t have to use them much. 

“J, get big bird down ‘ere, yeah?” 

_“Mr. Barton is claiming to be busy.”_

“Tell him I got a new toy for him.” 

_“…He’s on his way now, Sir.”_

Tony smirked at how dog-like his bird friend could be. Wave a bone in his face and he’ll come running. That’s how it was with most of the people he knew though; they couldn’t give two shits about him unless he’s got something for them. Typical though, considering he was a billionaire. It’s to be expected. 

Before his thoughts could run too wild, Barton was promenading into the lab, “This better be good, Stark! I was busy kicking Thor’s Asgardian ass at Mario Kart. What’s this new toy? I’m intrigued, and dude, you look like shit. When’s the last time you slept or even ate?" 

_“Sir has been awake for approximately 3 d-“_

“Mute!” 

Clint raised an eyebrow at the mechanic but didn’t comment. He’d just get Steve to drag him out of here later, and if that didn’t work he’d just get Nat to do it. 

"Anyways,” Tony rubbed the back of his neck for a second before reaching for something on his desk. He held it out to Clint, “here.” 

There archer let the item be dropped into the palm of his hand, and he studied it for a moment. It was obviously an arrow of some kind. “Wow! Uh, thank…thank you! It’s a um…a….” He scratched his head, giving Tony the ‘help me out here’ look. “Okay spill it. I have no idea what this is for.” 

“It’s an arrow, bird brain.” 

“I know _that._ But what does it do?” 

“Right, that. _That_ , my friend,” he gestured to the arrow, which was red and gold like his armor, and then to the quiver of them on his desk, “That will completely short out my armor. I call it the ‘Anti-Iron Man Arrow.’ Get it? Because it’s an arrow? And it shuts down the suit? You’re welcome. Dismissed.” He waved his hand and turned back to his desk to start tinkering with some unfinished project he had laying off to the side. 

“Anti-Iron Man arrow? Why the hell do I need this, Stark?” 

“Well hopefully so I don’t blow your friggin’ head off, _Barton.”_

Clint gaped at him for a moment, realizing what he was talking about and that he was totally serious. 

“If this is about what happened with the Enchantress, it’s alright, Tony. I completely understand, there’s nothing you can do when it comes to mind contro-“ 

“No. That’s the thing, Clint. There _is_ something I can do. I could have killed you, or anyone else on the team, except maybe Thor, I guess that probably wouldn’t have killed hi- Look that’s not the point. The point is I couldn’t stop it, I couldn’t control myself. You of all people should know what I’m talking about. So take the damn arrows and if you feel like you need to use them you god damn use them. Now get out.” By this point Tony was spun around in his chair facing the archer again, his knuckles were white from clutching the arm rest and the screwdriver he held in one hand. His face was completely serious; jaw set, eye’s glaring daggers at the other man. 

“Alright, you’re right, okay? I’ll keep them.” Clint twiddled with the arrow in his hand and grabbed the quiver of them from the genius’s desk, turning on his heel and heading for the door. 

“Get some sleep, Stark, and eat something, will ya?” Barton gave a short wave over his head as he exited the room. 

Once he was alone again, Tony had JARVIS lock the doors, and sat playing with the screwdriver between his fingers. He was exhausted and covered in the usual oil and grease. He needed a shower, and probably some food and sleep, too, but he was just so… worn out. He had to have like the world’s largest to-do list, and no time to do anything on it. He had some armor repairs to do still, which honestly he probably should have done before the arrows if he weren’t so paranoid that he was going to be kicked off the team. 

God he _really_ didn’t want to be kicked off the team. 

He let out a heavy sigh, and tossed the screwdriver onto his desk, putting his face in his hands. His head was starting to hurt from over thinking everything, and he just did not want to deal with a grumpy Captain America storming into his workshop, or worse, Natasha. After a moment of weighing his options, he settled for a nap. 

He reluctantly stood from his chair, making his way over to his worn-down couch, a quietly whirring Dum-E not far behind. He lay down, not even bothering with pulling the blanket that draped over the back of the couch over his body. He relaxed a bit into against the cool leather as JARVIS dimmed the lights, and drifted off to sleep. 


	12. Trust Issues

“Tony?” There’s a gentle knocking on the currently blacked out glass of the workshop, though it goes unnoticed by the sleeping genius within the room.

_“Is there something I can help you with, Captain Rogers?”_ the all-knowing AI spoke up, slightly startling the soldier outside the glass.

“Uh, well I just, I have food for Tony. Clint told me he could probably use a meal. Can I go in?”

The door to the lab opened up for Steve, who gave a grateful nod in the direction of the ceiling.

_“Sir is currently resting on the couch in the back. Thank you for bringing him a meal, Captain, and do be…gentle when you wake him”_

“Thanks, Jarvis.” The blonde said as he entered the room, making his way through the obstacle course of tools and half finished projects strewn about. There was an excited whiring and beeping noise coming from near the couch, as Steve made his way closer. Sure enough, there lay the billionaire, reluctantly waking from his nap by the poking and nuzzling of Dum-E’s claw.

“All right, all right,” The brunette swatted away at the bot with one hand while rubbing his eyes with the other. He was a mess, like he usually was when he spent days on end down here.

“Sleep well?” Steve smirked and tossed the bag he was holding to the billionaire, who lazily caught it and eyed the taller man in his workshop. “Two double cheese burgers, one large fry, right?”

“Awe, you shouldn’t have, Steven!” Tony teased as he pulled the food out the bag, instantly digging into his first burger. 

“I didn’t- well, I did- but Clint said you needed to eat something and Bruce told me what you liked, but you’re welcome.” He leaned forward and snatched a fry or two, earning himself an eye roll from the sleepy genius. “I still can’t believe how good these are; I suppose they make the future worth it.”

“Ha! They’ve also ruined the ‘future’ but yes, they’re incredibly good, so really I couldn’t care less.” Tony replied between bites, holding out the container of fries to Steve so he could grab a couple more.

They stayed quiet after that while Tony finished his food; which was surprisingly fast for having two double cheese burgers. Once he was done, he crumpled up the wrappers and tossed them into the bag, which he then proceeded to dump into the trash.

“Thanks, Cap’n” He gave a mock solute before making his way to the fridge near his mini-kitchen and pulling out two bottles of beer. “Want one?” he gestured to Steve, who, even though he couldn’t get drunk and didn’t really have a reason to drink alcohol, nodded anyways. Tony opened the bottles and handed one to the blonde, taking a sip of his own as he sat in his desk chair and turned to his computer.

“J, pull up the armor shit or whatever.” He took another sip of his beer and leaned back in his seat, knowing his AI knew what he meant. Steve remained quite from his spot on the couch, where he had moved once Tony got up, and watched as the space in front of the genius lit up with a blue hologram of the Iron Man armor. A few places around the helmet and back of the armor were lit up red, which is what Steve assumed meant that there was damage to those particular areas. He watched as Tony spread his hands, the hologram mimicking his actions in its own way by separating the pieces of the armor. 

“Alright, so most of the damage is external…” Tony mumbled to himself as he studied the holograms, grabbing the damaged pieces and enlarging them one by one, “Not too bad. Could be worse, I suppose…” His voice rose from a mumble to a normal volume as he addressed his AI, “Bring it out, buddy, I think I can finished this within the hour.”

_“Of course, Sir, until you find something to upgrade, that is.”_

Steve couldn’t help but chuckle at JARVIS’s tone, and the way Tony brought his hand to his chest as if he were deeply offended.

“Jarvis, honey bear, is that sass I hear?”

_“I was merely expressing my opinion based on past experience, Sir.”_

Tony gave a small laugh and started walking towards the back of the lab. The Iron Man armor from the hologram was walking itself to a workbench, and proceeded to lie down and await repairs. Steve was awestruck at how many functions JARVIS really had besides giving information and opening doors; he had no idea the AI could control the suits. He stood from the couch and followed Tony, who had already finished his beer and was gathering his tools. 

“Alright… Dum-E, over here, come on I need you,” Tony motioned for the bot to come as he started working on the back of the armor. The bot took one of the tools and immediately started helping the mechanic with the repairs. Steve had no idea what they were doing, and he probably never would, but it was oddly entertaining to watch how Tony interacted with his robots; ordering them around and threatening to donate them, the usual, but it was obvious that there was a strong connection between them. 

After about an hour and a half, Tony was still working on the suit, occasionally mumbling something to Dum-E or Butterfingers, while U just stood by quietly as if observing. Steve checked his watch and was surprised to see that it was already midnight, and he was extremely tired. Honestly, he had no idea how Tony could come down here for days at a time with no sleep. He got up to leave and considered telling the genius it was time he took a break, but he figured it would be no use fighting with him to go to bed when he was in ‘work mode.’ So he left quietly, as not to disturb him, and went up to his room to sleep.

A few hours later and Tony had finally finished the armor repairs, along with a few upgrades. He fist pumped Dum-E before grabbing the rag beside him and wiping what little oil he could from his hands.

“Hey, Cap, you know you don’t have to sta- Oh.” He cut his sentence short when he turned around to find that he was alone.

_“Captain Rogers retired to his room about two hours ago, Sir.”_ JARVIS supplied, noticing the look of confusion on his creators face.

“Oh. Guess I didn’t hear him go.” He cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck before speaking up again, “Pull up a project, J, doesn’t matter what. Just something to do with my hands, okay?”

_“As you wish, Sir.”_

 

_His eye’s snap open when a high pitched screech reaches his ears. He hears a familiar voice asking for him, but he can’t seem to open his mouth to respond, or move at all for that matter._

_“Breath…”_

_He knows that voice. But this doesn’t make any sense? He can feel hands on the back of his head, guiding him onto the couch, trying to be soothing. The mystery person steps into his view now, and he can’t believe what he’s seeing; he must be dreaming. He’s talking and Tony can hear every word but he just doesn’t understand; his whole world is crashing down around him. In the midst of it all, the realization that something just isn’t right hits him hard and there’s no way this is happening. He feels a sudden pressure on his chest, right on the arc reactor, and his stomach drops to the floor._

_He wants to scream, to beg him to stop. He needs it to live, doesn’t he know that? He’s trying to be good, to be responsible, how could this happen? Obie was always there for him, he was more like a father to him than Howard had ever been. This isn’t happening._

_All of a sudden the two of them are covered in the blue glow of the arc reactor as it’s pulled from his chest cavity._

_This is happening._

_“Did you really think… that just because you have an idea, it belongs to you?” Obadiah’s words cut the brief silence like knives; he can’t believe what he’s hearing._

_“Your father, he helped give us the atomic bomb. Now what kind of world would it be today if he was as selfish as you?” Before Tony could even begin to comprehend the words, he feels a rough tug in his chest, the face in front of him full of greed and longing._

_No, no please. He needs that; he’ll die. He can already feel the sharp bits of shrapnel eating away at his most vital organ as the other man continues rambling on about how the reactor will change the world._

_As he lays there dying, he can’t decide what’s worse; the pain of his heart being ripped to shreds or the pain of betrayal at the hands of someone he truly trusted._

_It’s becoming too much. His head is spinning and spinning and he can’t focus but he has to because god it’s his **life.** The spinning doesn’t stop though and he just wants it to be over, to be done with. Suddenly the spinning morphs to falling. The space around him is dark, and he realizes that of course it’s dark because this is **space.** It’s space and he’s falling, he can feel the weight of his armor pulling him down, which doesn’t make any sense because he was just dying on the couch a minute ago, right? There’s an explosion ahead of him, shaking him from his thoughts and all of a sudden he feels complete. He’s done, it’s almost done and this is just in his head. This must just be how death is, and he’s okay with it because he feels ready._

_He closes his eyes, and he can feel himself letting go, disappearing. The dark behind his eye lids is comforting to him now, but it doesn’t seem to want to stay. It’s flickering from black to blue until the colors are one in the same and they’re swirling and now he can feel himself being sucked in and oh god this was supposed to be **over** -_

 

“NO! NO I’M SORRY! I’M SOR-“

A calm, yet concerned sounding voice interrupts him, _“Sir, please you must try to think. You are in your workshop at Avengers tower in New York. You are safe.”_

His screaming and panicking stops almost immediately, though his breathing remains heavy, and he begins to take in his surroundings; finally remembering where he is.

“Right,” his voice is almost a whisper, “right… I’m sorry, J. Sorry.”

_“There is no need to apologize, Sir. It is my responsibility to keep you safe, and I do so happily.”_

Tony feels about ten times better hearing the reassurance from his AI, but he’s admittedly still very shaky. He glances around where he is seated at his desk, and at the project he had fallen asleep on. He can’t really remember what it was supposed to be, but it probably wasn’t important. 

He needs coffee.

He stands and exits the lab, the elevator taking him to the common floor without him even having to ask, because JARVIS is just good like that. When it arrives, he steps out in the brightly lit room, the sun pouring in through the windows.

Huh, morning already.

As he approaches the kitchen he can’t really say he’s surprised to see Captain America already back from his morning run and stuffing his face with breakfast. The guy eats like a pig because of that damn serum.

“Morning Stark,” He says between bites.

Tony is too tired to speak so he gives a nod and a friendly but brief wave, making a beeline for the coffee machine. Honestly even if he wanted to speak he’s not sure he could without his voice shaking and making him look completely fucking ridiculous and not Tony Stark at all. So a nod would just have to do.

“Sleep at all? You seemed pretty caught up in your work last night; I didn’t want to bother you.”

Another nod, and it’s true; he did sleep. Just not well in any sense of the word.

He’s relieved beyond comparison when he sees that JARVIS already had coffee made for him. He takes the cup, downing almost half of it instantly. Another nod to the soldier and he’s out of the kitchen.

So close; he is so close to getting in the elevator without running into anyone else. Of course though, Natasha appears out of fucking nowhere as usual. She seems tense, but whatever it is she’s feeling she doesn’t let it slip past her mask. She corners him as soon as she sees him, and it’s weird because she’s doesn’t even seem to be threatening him.

“Anti-Iron Man arrows?” she quirks an eyebrow, obviously unwilling to let him leave until he gives her some kind of an explanation.

Steve, who could hear the conversation from the kitchen, listens quietly.

“Yeah, so?” Tony responds. Of course she wants an explanation, but that doesn’t mean he won’t try to avoid answering anyways.

“Explain.”

Damn it.

“I almost killed Barton. I made them so he could shut me down if he ever has to.” She gives him a dangerous glare, knowing he’s still avoiding part of the question so he continues, “Natasha, I don’t… I don’t trust myself. If I had killed Clint, or even hurt him, or any of you…”

She gives an understanding nod, and he stops talking; he doesn’t need to finish, she gets it.

“It’s okay. I know we’re better safe than sorry, but don’t talk like that, Stark. Not even I could stop mind control. I still trust you with my life; we all do. Don’t beat yourself up about it.” She gives his shoulder a gentle squeeze, instantly noticing how he flinches before relaxing at the touch. She eyes him for a moment before walking away, and he turns into the open elevator as fast as he can.

Steve heard the whole thing, and he agrees with Natasha. He trusts Tony with his life, and he should by this point. He makes a note to talk to him about it later once Widow’s words have had time to sink in. He remembers how Barton acted when he was finally himself again after being under Loki’s control; he can’t imagine how that felt. The guilt must have been eating away at him, and the same thing is undoubtedly happening to Stark now. 

 

Once back in the safety of his lab, Tony immediately throws himself into his work. He has to keep busy so he doesn’t fall asleep again. He doesn’t want to; he’s just not in the mood for another nightmare. So he works. He has plenty of SI things to work on, so he does just that. He finishes working on updates for the current Stark pads and Stark phones, immediately sending them to Pepper, who will undoubtedly be pleased… he hopes. Then he moves on to the whole arc reactor clean energy thing they’ve got going on, trying to come up with new ways to make the system accessible to the public for the future. He knows it’s still got a ways to go, but he’s determined to make it work eventually.  
When Steve requests access to the shop about three hours later, he’s caught up in designing a stronger, more durable version of the armor material he used for the teams current uniforms. 

“Tony? Can I ta- What are you doing?” He eyes the genius, who is currently trying to force a knife through a swatch of material.

“Testing the durability of this material. What’s up?” He says this so casually that Steve doesn’t even bother to ask, and frankly, he probably doesn’t want to.

“I uh, I just wanted to talk to you about your conversation with Natasha.” He tries his best to sound as casual and nonchalant as the brunette had, but the turn of his friends chair and the eye roll he received in return probably meant his approach failed.

“What about it?” He says, his shoulders visibly tensing and his eyes locked on the knife and the material, obviously trying to avoid making eye contact.

“I just wanted you to know that I trust you, on and off the battle field. And it’s really not your fault; it could have happened to any one of u-“

“Rogers, I’m really, really not in the mood for a lecture right now, okay?” The billionaire’s voice is stern and rigid, and it almost makes Steve flinch.

“Okay, I’m sorry. It’s just that I can’t have one of my team members not trusting of himself. I just won’t; it’s no-“ He cuts himself short when Tony’s face reveals mortification and fear for a split second before it’s thrown behind a mask.

“Look Rogers,” Tony breaks the silence that had fallen between them, “I don’t want to hurt anyone. I promised myself I was done hurting innocent people.” His voice is a mere whisper now, and it’s clear his thoughts have shifted and he’s begun talking to himself, but Steve can hear every word because of his enhanced hearing. “Those soldiers died trying to save me… they were too young, it’s not fair; and it’s all my fault.” He stops his mumbling, suddenly becoming aware of Steve’s presence once again. The soldiers face looks almost hurt that his team mate felt that way about himself, even if the only thing he got out of the mumbling was that Tony thinks the death of some group of soldiers is his fault. He doesn’t know the details, and judging by the look of pure despair and exhaustion on the genius’s face, he doesn’t think he should ask.

“I’m sorry.” Tony says, this time more audible, “I’m sorry, just, can you just go? Please.”

Steve nods, not wanting to argue or hurt the man any further, so he leaves. 

Tony finds himself alone once again, staring blankly at the piece of material and the knife in his hand. In a sudden burst of anger, he jabs the knife through the piece of armor, then throws it across the shop, making a mental note that it’s still not strong enough. His breathing is heavy again as images of the day in the ‘fun-vee’ flash through his mind. The bullets piercing through the doors, the screams and the fire and explosions and the death oh god the death; the deaths that were because of him. He feels a panic attack coming on and he just doesn’t have the energy to fight it, hell, he doesn’t deserve to fight it. Those soldiers were innocent; they should not have died for him.

“Jarivs… lock,” He takes a deep breath, sliding off his chair and sinking to the floor against the side of his work bench, “lock the doors… please.”

_“Sir, are you sure that’s the best ide-“_

“Just do it” He manages to grit out between gasps. He needs a drink, or drinks.

Shakily he gets to his feet, sitting in his chair and reaching across his desk for a bottle of scotch and a glass. He pours some into it, downing it in one swift motion. He has two or three more glasses but it’s not enough to get him drunk, just enough to calm his nerves as the liquid leaves a warm, burning sensation in his stomach. Alcohol really is liquid confidence.

After replacing the bottle to its previous location on his desk, he rubs one hand over his face and through his hair. The other automatically finds its way to his chest, tapping nervously and instinctively on the blue glow of the arc reactor to assure him that it’s still there; to remind him why he has trust issues, even if one of the people he doesn’t trust is himself.


	13. Who are you?

Thor doesn't think he can yet say that he understands humans. They either over-think everything to the slightest detail, or they don't think it through enough. He knows he could be wrong, and the odds of him being right aren't exactly in his favor, but so far it has proven true by his reasoning. Tony Stark is a different story, though. He is the so called 'outlier' in this particular observation. Somehow, the Man of Iron manages to do an equal amount of each. Sometimes Thor thinks the man over thinks so much to the point where it no longer makes sense, but he has yet to see him give up completely on anything. This, he believes, is Tony's current predicament he has with himself.

It's near impossible not to notice the man's hesitance in everything he does since Loki's mind games. Thor has noticed his hesitance before the incident, but never to this extent. He looks as though if he touches something or someone they'll shatter at contact, or spontaneously combust. He can't help but feel at least slightly responsible for his brother's actions, and still can't help but wonder how things would be now if he had treated Loki better when they were children. He knows he can't dwell on the past, though, for what's past will always be past. He decides to focus on the now; the wonderful group of people he can proudly call his friends, the ones he is honored to say he fights great battles alongside.

The God of thunder is sitting in the kitchen devouring a box of pop tarts when Tony emerges from his lab for the first time in days. Thor gives him a bright smile and a friendly pat on the back. He can't help but notice the hard flinch when his hand touches him, but chooses to ignore it for Tony's sake.

"Friend Anthony! Are you well this fine evening?"

Tony looks completely lost for a moment, stepping aside a bit to see past the God's broad figure to get a look at the windows. He rubs his eyes and looks again, as if he can't believe that it's already dark outside, before realizing he still hasn't answered the question.

"I uh, I'm great, Thor, thanks." He gives him the best media smile he can manage in his state before gesturing to the nearly empty pop tart box, "I'll have Jarvis restock those for you, okay buddy?" He hesitates for a moment before returning the friendly pat on the back, though it was must gentler than the Asgardian's.

"Aye, I thank thee. We do not have things such as these on Asgard." Thor gives another grin before biting into his pop tart, nearly eating the whole thing in that single bite. Tony nods, and the Asgardian watches as he makes his way over to the coffee machine, pouring himself a large serving. The man's face relaxes instantly as he takes a sip, but it fades just as quickly as it came when he seems to become lost in thought. His brow furrows, and he stares at nothing whilst sipping his caffeinated beverage.

"What is troubling you, my friend?" Thor breaks the silence, shaking Tony from his thoughts.

"Hm? Nothing, I just…" He gives his head a tap next to his temple and shrugs, "Designing things, working on projects, I guess; something's always happening up there." He attempts a reassuring grin, just to make his explanation that much more believable. Not that Thor is buying it for a second; he's not as incoherent as some may think, but he does not argue. He will give his friend his space.

* * *

Tony abandons the kitchen as soon as he possibly can without making it seem like he's uncomfortable. He doesn't want to hurt Thor's feelings; sometimes the guy is the only one he feels he can tolerate. He's the only one who doesn't nag him about taking care of himself every time they cross paths. He simply shouts "Friend Anthony!" and asks him how his day was or how he's feeling whilst wearing that same wide grin he always is around him. While Tony may not always be truthful in his answer, it's nice to know someone genuinely cares how he's feeling, and doesn't call him out for lying about it. Thor simply accepts the answer, offers another smile and makes simple small talk. It's nice.

But Tony simply cannot handle awkward, pointless conversations right now.

He hasn't slept since his last nightmare, he doesn't want to, and honestly, he can't. He can't sleep, and with all these things spinning through his mind, the idea of food never even crosses his mind. He's pretty sure JARIVS has mentioned it once or twice, but it was kind of in one ear, out the other. Whatever.

Not important.

He really should return to the workshop; he's almost finished the more pressing SI projects, he just needs to add the finishing touches. After that it's back to that fucking material that just doesn't want to cooperate with him. He's managed to get it stronger since the whole stabbing a knife through it in a fit of anger thing, but it's still not good enough. He'll figure it out. Instead of retreating to the lab, though, he reluctantly decides to take a short break, and lounge on the couch in the thankfully empty common living area. Thor is still in the kitchen, and visible if Tony would simply turn his head, but it's good enough. He doesn't know why he always comes to the common floor even when he wants to be left alone; he has his own floor complete with a kitchen and a living room and whatever else. It's just a habit, he supposes, and it's not that big of deal.

He settles himself on the love seat with his cup of steaming coffee. He sits with one leg flat but bent and resting on the cushion of the couch, while his other is bent up right. He throws one arm lazily over the arm rest, and holds the mug in his free hand. The billionaire stays like that for a long time; letting his coffee warm him and ease the headache residing behind his eyes. He's enjoying the peace and quiet, and is actually glad it's dark outside; no light to worsen the aching. Eventually he's joined by Bruce and his steaming cup of tea, but Banner is chill and doesn't disturb the peace. He takes his seat on the love seat next to Tony, but still giving him a considerable amount of space, which the genius is unbelievably thankful for. He simply greets the mechanic with a nod of his head, before bringing the tea cup up to his lips for another sip.

Tony is usually completely comfortable around Bruce, and he's not saying that he's completely _uncomfortable_ sitting with him right now, but he's honestly afraid to speak. He knows how aggravating he can be, and he's not exactly on best terms with himself at the moment. He doesn't want to annoy Bruce or offend him to the point where he has to leave the room just so he doesn't Hulk out and squash Tony where he's sitting. Not that the Other Guy would do that; he and Tony actually get along quite well, and he likes to think that the Hulk trusts him, even if it's just the slightest bit. What can he say? He's got a soft spot for the Green Bean.

"Something wrong?" Bruce raises an eyebrow, obviously having noticed how stiff the other man is sitting beside him.

Tony shakes his head and takes an extra large gulp of his coffee; a nervous habit of his when holding a mug of the stuff.

"Are you sure?"

"Mhm," He gives a nod, and finishes off his coffee. To avoid further questioning, he stands from the sofa and goes back into the kitchen to pour himself another cup, though this time a good amount of bourbon is added. He notices the concerned gaze of Thor as he adds the alcohol, but chooses to ignore it. It's his tower, his coffee, his bourbon; he can do what he wants. Grabbing the fresh cup, he leaves the kitchen just as fast as he came, making for the elevator. He needs to get the fuck out of this atmosphere.

Of course though, since the universe just loves to watch him suffer, their resident super soldier is stepping out of the lift as he's stepping in. " _Just ignore him,_ " he tells himself as he takes another sip of his coffee, the alcohol in it calming his nerves the slightest bit.

"Tony? You okay?"

Okay, that's it.

He turns on his heel and facing the soldier, feeling smaller in the man's presence, though he doesn't let it show on his face, "I am _fine_! I swear to _Christ_ if one more person asks me how I am, I'm going to start throwing shit." Steve just stares at him, trying to find his words and obviously very confused, but before he can answer, Tony has the elevator doors closed. Taking a deep breath, he leans against the cool lift wall, finishing his spiked coffee before hitting the button for his own floor.

* * *

He needs a damn shower, and he also needs to not be around anyone. The first place they'll look for him is in the workshop, so he'll just tell JARVIS not to tell them where he is; that should buy him some alone time. When the elevator pings and the doors open, he immediately steps out. Looking around, he notices how unnaturally clean his own floor is, since he never uses it. The only rooms he really uses on this floor are his room and his bathroom, but even that's not often. He sleeps and showers in his workshop more often than he does up here. He discards his now empty coffee mug in the kitchen sink before retreating into his room.

Besides a few projects he keeps laying around for tinkering when he can't sleep, for on the rare occasions the team forces him to stay in his room and rest for once, his bedroom is fairly in order. There are a few items of clothing on the floor, and his bed isn't perfectly made, but it at least looks lived in. He turns left and into his private bathroom, locking the door behind him. JARVIS starts the shower for him, and for that, he's thankful. He loves JARVIS.

While the water warms up, he starts to undress. His jeans are the first to go, followed by his boxers and socks. His shirt is always last; he hates looking in the mirror and seeing all the scar tissue surround the arc reactor. He stares at it anyways, but this way his eyes don't linger as long.

He steps into the steamy shower, doing his best to keep the water from hitting his oil stained face. He still despises being in or under water, but he knows showers aren't optional. It helps that this water is warm, and not the freezing, rusty water from the cave in Afghanistan, but it still makes him uneasy. He'll get the grease off when he shaves his face over the sink.

He lazily leans against the shower wall, letting the rising steam ease his headache, though it still doesn't go completely. He stays there for a good 8 minutes, the warm water relaxing his stiff muscles, before finally starting to actually wash up.

In another 10 minutes, he's out of the shower feeling only slightly better. Oh well; at least he's clean. He wraps a towel around his waist, tying it in place before standing in front of the sink. He grabs his razor and shaving cream, and clears the condensation on the mirror so he can see. He ignores the scars littering his chest as he focuses on shaving. Once he's done, his signature Tony Stark-beard is clean and perfect.

As he study's himself in the mirror, admiring the handy work that is his face (Because seriously, he knows he's gorgeous), a firm knock on his bathroom door nearly makes him jump. _Nearly._

He uses one hand to hold the towel hanging loosely on his hips in place, using the other to open the door, only to find Captain fucking America.

No- let him rephrase that.

He opens the door completely naked other than the towel around his waist, to Captain fucking America, who now has an obvious blush on his face.

_Fuck._

"Can I help you?" He's both surprised and relieved that he managed to pull off such a nonchalant tone; especially considering how fucking insecure he feels at the moment. It isn't even the towel that he has the issue with; it's the fact that he's shirtless, the mess that makes up his chest completely exposed to his childhood hero. Wonderful.

Thankfully, Steve manages to collect himself and speak as if this were a completely normal thing, though the pink tinge is still clearly visible on his face. "It's movie night, and we didn't want to start without you," he awkwardly clears his throat and scratches the back of his head, "I'm sorry, I didn't know you were...um," he gestures to the billionaire, trying to find the right words.

"Yeah, it's fine. I'll be down in a minute." He self-consciously grips the towel around his waist a bit tighter, pulling it up a bit so that it's not hanging so low on his hips anymore.

Steve just nods, then proceeds to turn and dart out of the room. Once he's out and the door is shut, Tony leaves the bathroom for his closet, rummaging through it for something comfortable to wear.

* * *

Two hours later, the end credits for Star Wars: The Empire Strikes Back is rolling on the screen in the common living room. Tony's hardly said a word to any of them since he arrived for movie night. Which makes sense; they were just waiting for him, so the movie was already set up when he got there. Clint was positioned next to Natasha on the couch, his arm subtly wrapped around her waist. Bruce was on the opposite end of that same couch, as far away from the couple as he could get. Steve was sitting on the love seat, but not in Tony's movie night spot, and Thor was lounging in the recliner as usual because he thinks it's fit for kings or whatever.

The billionaire stood as soon as the movie ended, not wanting to get caught in some conversation he really couldn't give two fucks about. With a polite wave of his hand, he grabbed his phone and started for the elevator, and of course Steve decided to follow him.

He knows that the soldier isn't exactly _following him_ , but rather he's just going to retire to his own floor for the night, and needs the elevator to do so. For once, Tony is doing the same. He's hoping Rogers won't give him that worried look because he's actually voluntarily going to sleep in his own bed for once, but he's too exhausted to get any actual work done.

He does give him that _look_ though, because of course he fucking does, right when Tony hits the buttons for his own floor and, because he's such a goddamn gentleman, Steve's floor.

"Who are you and what have you done with the real Tony Stark?"

"Shut up." Tony rolls his eyes at the soldier's pathetic attempt at humor, leaning against the wall of the lift opposite of the blonde.

Steve ignores the eye roll, giving a small chuckle in response before asking, "Seriously though, you're going to sleep in a real bed without being dragged?"

"Guess we'll find out."

Steve's not really sure what the genius means by that, but he just nods, seeing that the other man is still not in the best of moods.

The elevator pings on Tony's floor, and he all but runs out, giving Steve a lazy wave without looking back.

* * *

Tony said he'd find out, and he did. He found out that sleep hates him, and refuses to come tonight. He had to have been lying awake in his bed for at least 3 hours, the room dark except for the gentle blue glow from his chest. He always tries his best to cover it up at night, but somehow the light, though slightly less bright, still manages to seep through the sheets.

It's not the light that keeps him awake, though, at least, not anymore. He just has so many things running through his head. It's a mixture of designs and math and ideas that he'll probably never get around to. It's also the lingering fear of the nightmare's that are destined to invade his dreams should he manage to close his eyes and let his guard down.

He's tired, he really is, but he just can't _sleep._

"You awake, J?" Tony knows the answer to the question, but he finds the need to ask it anyways.

_"For you, Sir, always."_

The mechanic grins, taking a moment to appreciate the fact that JARVIS will always answer that one question the same exact way. It's comforting.

"Thanks, Buddy."

_"Of course, Sir. Do you need something?"_

"Just someone to talk to. Can't sleep."

_"I am glad to discuss anything you wish."_

So they do.

Tony rants to his AI about the designs infesting his mind, and even talks a little bit about the nightmares, knowing that he can trust JARVIS to keep that information just between them. He talks so much, in fact, that at some point, he actually doses off, and sleeps peacefully through the last few hours of the early morning.


	14. A Scale of Barton to Stark

"Tony?"

There's a gentle nudging on his shoulder, but he doesn't give the familiar voice the satisfaction of a reaction. He's tired, and he knows it couldn't have been very long since he literally talked himself to sleep with JARVIS.

"Tones, come on. Pepper is here."

He gives a listless grunt, figuring that Pepper was worth at least some form of acknowledgement, but still makes no effort to move.

"Fine. You leave me no choice, then." The voice replies to his groan, bundling up the end of the comforter he had cocooned around himself and pulling it off the bed, taking him with it. He nearly has the wind knocked out of him when he hits the floor, but continues to lay in a sleepy daze atop the blanket.

"Really, Tony? You're really going to do this?"

He responds with a sleepy nod and can't help the small smile that tugs at his lips when he feels himself being dragged across the ground. Well, actually, it's more like Rhodey pulling the comforter out of his room while he continues to lounge on it. He hasn't opened his eyes yet, but he knows that his best friend has literally dragged his drowsy ass into the elevator; he can feel the shift in momentum as the lift brings them down to the common floor.

By this point, he has reluctantly pried open his eyes, but made no move to get up off the blanket. Rhodey gives an exasperated sigh, giving in and dragging him into the common living room, where Steve and Pepper are engaged in some casual conversation.

"Good morning, Miss Potts," He smirks from where Rhodey had finally abandoned him on the floor, pulling her from her discussion and earning him an eye roll as she looks down at him.

"Good morning, Mr. Stark," Her tone is serious but Tony can see the smile beginning to show on her face; it's a beautiful thing, really. Pepper was always fascinating to him.

Meanwhile, Steve is just staring at him, most likely wondering how Tony had made his fortune, and how he was ever deemed mature enough to be an Avenger in the first place, before finally giving a small grin of his own. He's only distracted from the billionaire, who was now re-wrapping himself in the blankets and dozing off again, when a hand is held in front of him. He looks up to see the owner of the gesture, also the man who had dragged Tony out of bed, and gives it a firm shake.

"Colonel Rhodes, but you can just call me Rhodey," Rhodey gives him a toothy smile when Steve instantly connects the dots upon hearing the nickname; Tony's best friend.

"Don't be so modest, sour patch." Tony mumbles sleepily against the blanket, almost completely engulfed in the cover.

"Steve Rogers, it's nice to finally meet you." He returns the slight smile, ignoring the mechanic's comment. He had a deep respect for a man in uniform, even if Rhodes currently wasn't wearing it.

"Likewise."

"Rhodeyyyy"

Steve can't help but chuckle at the death look the Colonel gives as he turns to his friend. He can't help but wonder how he's put up with the mechanic all these years.

"Rhodey, Honey bear, I want pancakes," Tony whined, obviously proud of himself for ruining the formal meeting between the two soldiers.

"Tell you what. You get your ass off the floor and I'll make you as many pancakes as you want, deal?"

Tony seemed to consider this for a moment, and it seemed as though he had chosen the option of sleep, until Pepper bent down and grabbed him by the ear. She was dressed in business attire, as she always was whenever Steve saw her. Her black pencil skirt, white button up, and high heels made her look very professional, and slightly intimidating. Steve would hate to be on her bad side.

"Ow! Ow okay! Okay!" Tony playfully swatted her hand away, allowing her to help him off the floor when she held it out for him instead. Once standing, she straightened out his clothes and ruffled his hair, her hand lingering for a moment as she seemed to be considering something.

"You need a haircut." She states firmly, pulling the strands of hair straight to reveal their true length.

He yawned and shook his head, causing her to drop her hand back to her side, "No I don't; I'm beautiful." He gave his best shit-eating grin, earning yet another eye roll from the CEO.

" _Yes,_ but it wouldn't hurt to clean it up a bit for tonight." When he raised a questioning eyebrow she sighed and elaborated, "The Gala."

He looked dumbfounded for a moment before addressing his AI, "That today, J?"

_"Indeed, Sir. Also, good morning, Miss Potts."_

"Good morning, Jarvis." Pepper's glare never once left the billionaire as she spoke. After a moment, the woman raised an expectant eyebrow.

God damn it; she's giving him the look.

"Fine." He concedes.

"Come on." She grins when she gets her way, grabbing his arm and leading him to the kitchen table, pulling out a chair and making him sit down, "Stay." She walks away and disappears into the half bath down the hall, and emerges a moment later holding a haircutting cape, a comb, and a pair of scissors. She gingerly drapes the cape over his shoulders and begins combing through his bed head.

"You cut his hair?" Steve questioned, slightly impressed with the woman and her many talents.

"Just trim it, yes. He's too stubborn-"

"Hey- ow!" He immediately shuts up when she gives his hair a tug and continues.

"-to actually leave his workshop and go to a real stylist unless something really important is coming up."

Steve gives her a knowing nod and she returns to her work, kneading her fingers through his unkempt hair.

Tony closes his eyes, habitually leaning into the touch. Pepper used to love playing with his hair when they were still together, and he would be lying if he said he didn't miss it. He almost brings his hand up to hers to keep her from pulling it away, but immediately thinks better of it. Instead, he sits still and waits patiently as she begins snipping away.

It doesn't take her long; only about 5 minutes, since it was only a trim. She ruffles his hair one more time before leaving to discard of the bits of hair she cut off, taking the cape and other supplies back to the bathroom.

"Okay," He turns to Rhodey now, who was actually making him his pancakes, "On a scale of Barton to Stark, how do I look?" he says, knowing Clint is lurking from above.

"Hey!" The archer jumps out of the air vent in the ceiling upon hearing his name.

"And big bird leaves his nest." Tony teases as he takes a seat at the counter where Rhodey has placed a mound of blueberry pancakes.

* * *

"We're going to be late. She's going to kill us; and it's all your fault." Rhodey speaks to the billionaire through the closed bedroom door, tapping his foot impatiently and checking his watch. Steve is leaning against the wall opposite of the door, clad in a well tailored navy blue suit. He doesn't know how he let Tony rope him into this, but here he was; dressed and ready for the Gala.

Rhodey seemed to be able to read minds, or maybe he's just good after being friends with Tony for so long, because he chuckles a bit and raises an eyebrow at the nervous soldier.

"You don't need to go if you don't want to, man. It's really not that big of a deal."

"No, it's fine. I've just never been to one of these things; I don't know how I let him talk me into going." He gave a small laugh too, before checking his own watch.

He's about to step forward and knock, but draws back as the doors swings open, revealing the one and only Tony Stark.

He was dressed in a single breasted black suit jacket, with the pants to match Around his neck hangs a red and gold striped tie (of course), tucked neatly beneath where the suit has been buttoned. His hair is clean and neatly groomed, as well as his signature beard. He's fiddling with his cuff links as he closes the door behind him; Steve can't help but notice the silver band around his wrist, but it's quickly covered once he's satisfied with the cuffs.

To say the least, Tony Stark cleans up nice.

Rhodey studies his friend for a moment, giving an approving whistle, causing a small smile to pull at the billionaire's features.

"I'm driving." He says as they pool into the elevator, all dressed and groomed and ready to go.

* * *

"Not a scratch," The genius states as he hands the valet the keys to his Audi R8. Rhodey pulls up behind them in another one of Tony's cars, since there was no room for all three of them in the Audi, and Steve had never been in such an expensive car.

The Colonel joins them and they enter the Gala, soon joined by Pepper, who had been waiting for them just inside the entrance. Steve greets her with a "Ma'm," before taking in his surroundings for the first time. There are people everywhere, all dressed in their best clothing. Steve's actually glad he let Tony buy him a nice suit for the occasion, otherwise he would feel even more out of place than he already does. When Colonel Rhodes and Pepper wander off after spotting an old friend, he sticks close to the billionaire, not wanting to get caught up in a swarm of reporters; he trusts that Stark knows how to deal with them.

He follows Tony to the bar, where he orders a scotch for each of them. Steve takes the glass, but doesn't bother drinking from it. He's never had a taste for liquor, and with the serum it's just pointless.

"You gonna finish that, Spangles?" Tony makes grabby hands for the glass once he's finished his own, which Steve hesitantly gives to him. He'll cut him off if he drinks too much.

"Hey, Tony!" A female voice causes the genius to whirl around, swishing the ice in his cup. He studies the woman for a moment, obviously recognizing her but having trouble recalling her name.

"Oh, hey! Um… Mand-"

"Marissa," She corrects him, oblivious to the fact that the billionaire doesn't remember much about her at all. She steps close to him, a little too close, and it's making Steve a bit uncomfortable. He clears his throat but it goes unnoticed by the woman, who now has her hands all over Tony's chest. He flinches a bit when it comes too close to the arc reactor, and backs up a bit, but she only steps closer, leaning in and planting a firm kiss to his lips.

"Remember me now?" She inquires, licking her lips.

"Sure don't." He deadpans and walks away, scotch in hand, with Steve not far behind.

"Who was that?" Steve has caught up to him by this point, an eyebrow raised as he's realizing how differently Tony acts in public to maintain his media reputation.

"Playboy, remember? Well, I guess not much anymore. It's not important-"

He's cut off by a crowd of reporters with flashing cameras and microphones, asking so many questions at once that it's nearly impossible to even make out what they're asking. One woman slides to the front of the group, a man with a camera following.

"Can we get a picture, Mr. Stark?" She seems to notice Steve standing there for the first time, because she quickly adds, "With Captain America?"

"Sure, yeah, why not? Come on, Captain Spangles." Tony waves him closer, handing off his scotch to a passing waiter. Steve reluctantly moves to stand next to him, where they each put their arms around each other's back. They stand there for a moment, letting the greedy reporters take their pictures and ask their questions that were completely ignored.

"Thank you, Mr. Stark, Captain America."

They nod and walk off, the reporters deciding to finally give them space for a bit.

"That's what you have to deal with every day?" Steve couldn't help but ask; he was curious.

"Every day I go out, yeah, pretty much. It's not a big deal, I'm used to it." He shrugs, leaning against the wall they found off to the side.

"Sounds exhausting."

The corner of the billionaire's mouth quirks up then settles back into a firm line. He raises a hand to tap against his chest, where the light of the arc reactor is hidden behind his red and gold tie. Steve notices the silver band again; it's definitely not a watch, because he's wearing one on his other wrist and there's no clock on it, just a subtle red light.

"What's that?"

"Hm?" Tony stops his tapping, but his hand remains over his chest as he looks at the soldier.

"On your wrist, that silver thing." Steve elaborates as Tony rolls his sleeve down a bit further.

"This? It's for the suit. It helps it lock on to my location when there's an unexpected emergency and I don't have time to properly suit up. It's actually a lot more complicated than it sounds, but I dumbed it down a bit. Why?"

"Well, I just, I don't know. Why do you need it for a gala?"

"Well, in case you haven't noticed there's an angry Demi-God out for my head. I actually wear them a lot; I'm surprised you haven't noticed yet. Saved my life when Loki threw me out the damn window."

"Out the window? When was this?" Steve's voice showed a hint of alarm, but he was beginning to slip into his Captain America voice.

"During the invasion. I uh, may or may not have threatened him? He didn't take very kindly to it, I think. Whatever. JARVIS still has the video, I'm sure." He waves his hand nonchalantly as if were something that happened every day. When Steve crossed his arms over his chest, Tony regretted ever bringing this up. He was fine! They all lived, so everything is fine. "I can show you if you're really that interested, but it's really not a big deal Cap. Я в порядке."

"What?" Steve just looks confused now, rather than angry.

"Nothing, it's Russian." Tony waves his hand dismissively again.

"You speak Russian?"

"You'd be surprised what you pick up on after spending three months in a cave in Afghanistan."

Steve sighed and uncrossed his arms, obviously not in the mood to argue with the man, or deal with his diversion tactics. "This discussion is not over."

"Kinda feels like it is." Tony smirks, but holds his hands up in a placating gesture when Steve shoots him a glare. "Or, maybe it isn't. That's okay too."

"Mhm."


	15. Freddie Mercury & Angry Gods

The night at the Gala was slow and uneventful. Around midnight, Steve had managed to coax Tony into going home. They let Colonel Rhodes know they were heading out, and left the fancy event, retrieving the keys to the billionaire's Audi on their way.

The ride home was quiet, and Steve figured the silence was getting to Tony too, because he turned on the radio, blasting something he called "Rock and Roll." It was going to be a long ride.

Catching the awkward glances from the soldier, Tony rolled his eyes, "What? There's no way you won't like Queen. Freddie Mercury was king!"

"Who?" Steve quirked an eyebrow at the baffled brunette.

"This guy!" Tony reached over and turned up the radio, singing along and tapping his hands on the steering wheel to the beat as he drove. He didn't even seem to mind the amusement on the soldier's face; he just kept singing. "SO YOU THINK YOU CAN STONE ME AND SPIT IN MY EYE? SO YOU THINK YOU CAN LOVE ME AND LEAVE ME TO DIE? OHH BABY, CAN'T DO THIS TO ME BABY! JUST GOTTA GET OUT, JUST GOTTA GET RIGHT OUT OF HERE!"

Steve couldn't help but laugh. Here he is 70 years in the future, sitting in an expensive sports car next to Howard Stark's son, who's blasting the radio and singing at the top of his lungs without a care in the world. Once the song ended, Tony joined in on the laughing until the next song came on, and he opted for singing along with this "Freddie Mercury" guy.

"Buddy you're a boy make a big noise playin' in the street gonna take on the world some day. You got mud on your face, you big disgrace, kickin' your can all over the place! We will, we will rock you!"

Steve didn't understand the words much, but he would admit that the beat was catchy. When the billionaire tried to talk him into singing along with the "We will rock you" part, he shook his but let out a hearty laugh as the man shrugged and continued his solo, turning the volume up a little higher. It was strange for him, seeing his teammate so relaxed and just purely enjoying himself. It was a rare sight. He's heard from Natasha and Clint that Tony is quite the party animal, and though he didn't doubt it for a second that he could be when he wanted to, he just wasn't convinced that he's like that anymore. He's always in his lab working on projects for his company or upgrading their gear. He heard about how much the mechanic had changed since Afghanistan, and he could not be happier that he did, even if his kidnapping was absolutely horrible.

After about four more songs, one's that Steve recognized from when Tony spent the night in the lab, which he's pretty sure the genius called the group AC/DC, they finally arrived back at the Tower's garage. From there, they made their way into the elevator. JARVIS stopped them at Steve's floor first, where they said goodnight, and the soldier thanked him for the "entertainment."

"My floor, J" The billionaire instructed, the hint of a smile on his face as he leaned against the elevator wall. He had a lot of fun tonight, and he wasn't even drunk. For him, that was unheard of, but it was true. The actual Gala itself was boring and slow, but the ride home with Steve had made his night. There was nothing like driving to some good old Rock music, singing at the top of your lungs. The super soldier had just laughed at him, but Tony really didn't mind. He wasn't even embarrassed; he's been seen doing worse, and that was on TV. Besides, introducing the man out of time to Rock and Roll was his idea of a good time, besides building awesome suits and robots.

The lift stopped at the penthouse and he stepped out, making his way to his own bathroom. He was eager for a quick shower and a night in the shop.

Twenty minutes later he was showered and clad in sweatpants and a Hulk T-shirt, which earned him an eye roll from Banner when Tony stopped for a cup of coffee in the communal kitchen. Once he had his mug, he retreated to his shop to work on armor repairs and some SI projects Pepper had nagged him about at the Gala.

AC/DC was blaring in the background all night while Tony worked with JARVIS on a new armor design. Dum-E occupied himself making by motor oil smoothies and delivering them to Tony, who thanked him for each one and set them aside with the other full glasses. It was the thought that counts; he'd dump them later.

He thought it must be morning already, because Steve was requesting access to his lab, and everyone knows that Steve runs on a strict military schedule. Too engrossed in his work to have a conversation through JARVIS, he let him in.

When Steve came to Tony's workshop at three in the morning looking for some company after a particularly bad nightmare, he wasn't sure if he should have been surprised to have found the billionaire the way he did. The mechanic was sitting on the floor in a Hulk shirt, surrounded by unpainted armor parts and at least a dozen green smoothies, all full and set to the side. He was covered in motor oil and grease, a dirty rag thrown over his shoulder and a screw driver in hand, tinkering with what looked like the shoulder piece of his suit.

"Hey, Tony," Steve gave a nod, though the genius was too focused on what he was doing to notice it, and strolled over to him, sitting on the ground but careful to keep his distance from the parts.

"Cap'n," He gave a mock salute and a lop-sided smile when he looked up from his hands, revealing more smudges of oil littering his forehead and cheeks. "Morning already?"

"Well, actually it's only about 3AM." The soldier corrected. It wasn't unusual for Tony to forget the day, much less keep track of the time.

_"It is 3:14 in the morning."_ JARVIS corrected.

"Huh…" Tony considered this a moment and continued with his screw driver before setting the piece aside and grabbing another, probably the other shoulder. "What are you doing up, then?"

"Couldn't sleep," The soldier shrugged. It wasn't a lie. "What are you working on?

The genius's eyes seemed to light up at that, and he instantly went into great detail about his new suit design. Steve didn't understand any of it, but Tony rambled on anyways, occasionally holding up his work and walking the soldier through the current process. He even let Steve help with tightening a few bolts and screws. He was amazed at how much time, effort, and planning went into the Iron Man armor.

"So," He broke the peaceful silence that had fallen between them, "When are you going to show me that video of Loki during the invasion?"

Tony noticeably stiffened for a moment at the word 'invasion,' but it was gone as soon as it came and his toothy grin was back, accompanied by a slight chuckle.

"Jarvis, sweet heart, can you play the video feed from the Mark VII and the tower's security?"

_"Right away, Sir."_

A holographic screen appeared out of nowhere, the two men turning their attention to it instead of the work before them. Steve watched as Tony landed on the platform to remove his armor, briefly making eye contact with Loki below as the robotic arms peeled off the suit.

**The armor was finally off and Tony made his way inside, just as Loki entered as well.**

**"Please tell me you're going to appeal to my humanity." He scowls, though it's obvious his tone is dripping with sarcasm.**

**"Uh, actually I'm planning to threaten you." Tony corrects him, wandering over to the bar.**

"Oh, brother…" Steve leans in a little closer to the screen as the video continues.

**"You should have left your armor on for that."**

**"Yeah; It's seen a bit of mileage and you got the uh, glow stick of destiny." Tony waves a dismissive hand, his voice surprisingly nonchalant.**

**Loki glances admirably at his scepter as the billionaire continues.**

**"Would you like a drink?"**

**The god snickers, obviously not buying into the mortal's game, "Stalling me won't change anything."**

**"No, no, no," Tony corrects him, "Threatening. No drink? You sure?" He reaches for a bottle on the shelf behind him, "I'm having one."**

**Loki is obviously annoyed by this point, and he turns with an angered snarl, "The Chitauri are coming; nothing will change that." He turns back to face the genius again, "What have I to fear?"**

**"The Avengers." Tony pops the lid off the bottle, elaborating when the god gives him a confused look, "It's what we call ourselves; sort of like a team. Earth's mightiest heroes type-thing." He pours his drink as Loki responds.**

**"Yes, I've met them."**

**"Yeah," Tony snorts and continues, "Takes us a while to get any traction, I'll give you that one. But let's do a head count here: Your brother, the demi god," Loki rolls his eyes and turns away, Tony taking the opportunity to slip a silver band onto his wrist as he speaks, "The super soldier, living legend, who kind of lives up to the legend. A man with** **_breath taking_ ** **anger management issues, a couple of master assassins, and you, big fella! You've managed to piss off every single one of them."**

**Loki gives a satisfied nod, "That was the plan."**

**"Not a great plan." Tony says as walks around the counter, "When they come- and they will- they'll come for you."**

**"I have an army."**

**"We have a Hulk."**

**"Oh? I thought the beast had wandered off?"**

**"Yeah, you're missing the point. There's no throne. There is** **_no_ ** **version of this where you come out on top. And** **_maybe_ ** **your army comes, and** **_maybe_ ** **it's too much for us, but it's all on you. Because if we can't protect the Earth you can be damn well sure we'll avenge it." He stares at the god with a challenging glare as he sips his drink.**

**Loki begins to stride towards him, his face dark and mischievous, "How will your friends have time for me, when they're so busy fighting you?" He raises his scepter, now glowing blue. Tony's eyes are wide with alarm, but when the scepter makes contact with his chest, there's a loud '** **_ding.'_ ** **The god's brow furrows and he tries again, but he has no better luck. "This usually works."**

**"Well performance issues. You know, it's not uncommon. One out of five-" The billionaire is cut off as the Asgardian brings his hand to his throat with an annoyed grunt, throwing him across the floor. "Jarvis, any time now," He stands only to be caught by the throat again.**

**"You will all fall before me." The tone is vicious and sharp, Loki's grip tightening around the genius's throat.**

**"Deploy." The God lifts him off the ground, the back wall sliding open, "DEPLOY!" He proceeds to be thrown him out the window, shattering the glass as he begins to fall.**

**He spreads his arms to slow to descent. The suit shoots out of the wall, knocking Loki over and flying out the window after the mechanic. It opens up and begins scanning for something, finally locking onto the silver bracelet Tony is wearing, which is now beeping red. The suit latches onto his wrist and begins to fold around him. The helmet is the last to close and he shoots back up, just barely avoiding impact with the ground, and into the air.**

**"And there's one other person you pissed off. His name is Phil." Tony is now hovering outside the broken window, fully encompassed in the Mark VII armor.**

**Loki raises his scepter to fire at him, but Tony is quicker and shoots a repulsor blast first, knocking the god over with a grunt.**

When the video ends, Steve isn't sure if he should be angry, amused, impressed, or, well, all of the above. "Wow, uh…I guess it did save your life."


	16. Certified Douche Bag

Bruce doesn't know what exactly he's walked in on when he enters Tony's lab this morning, but it's fair to say he wasn't expecting it. First off, Tony is wearing that damn Hulk shirt he bought just to spite him. (He makes a mental note to rummage through the billionaire's closet later in the week and burn the thing.) Second, he's asleep on the floor surround by armor parts, which he supposes isn't all that unusual. What is unusual, however, is that _Steve_ is also on asleep on the floor, and also surrounded by armor parts. The Captain is arguably much cleaner than the genius, in the sense that he's not covered from head to toe in motor oil and grease, but it's obvious to anyone that the two of them had a late night.

He sighs and tiptoes over to sleeping beauty number one, nudging the brunette with his foot. He feels bad for having to wake the man, he looks exhausted and it's no secret that he doesn't sleep nearly as much as he should, but he promised Ms. Potts that he would make sure the genius gets to some important meeting in her absence. After the gala the other night, Pepper had said goodbye to the Avengers at the tower and returned to LA for a company emergency, and she had politely asked Bruce to see to it that he attends said meeting. Though he'd never admit it, Ms. Potts is quite intimidating when she wants to be, so didn't dare to argue.

"Hey, Tony," He nudges the billionaire a little harder, but not enough to startle him when he finally opens his eyes. After a few more failed attempts, the mechanic reluctantly opens his eyes, taking in his surroundings as a force of habit and running his hands through his greasy hair.

"Brucie, what are you doing here?" He gives a lazy smile to the physicist, who shushes him and gestures to the still asleep Captain America. He stands as quietly as he can, because even though sleeping on a hard cement floor in a lab isn't exactly good for posture, he doesn't have the heart to wake the man out of time. He quietly strolls over to his workbench, digging a screwdriver and a wrench out of his pocket, along with a gum wrapper and a folded up piece of scrap paper covered in calculations, and discards them onto the desk. When he turns around, the Doctor has draped a blanket over Steve, and is waiting patiently for the billionaire.

When they exit the lab, Tony and Bruce make their way into the elevator. When Banner hits the button for his friend's penthouse, said friend gives him a questionable look.

"You have a meeting, you have to go in Pepper's absence, and you need to clean up."

"What's wrong with how I look, Brucie Bear?" Tony gives him the best pouty face he can muster, and if Bruce didn't know any better, he'd say the genius actually looked offended. It was kind of impressive.

"You're covered in grease and you slept on a cement floor. The meeting is at 8 AM. It's 6:30 right now." He gives his fellow scientist a grin and gives him a gentle shove out of the elevator, now stopped at the billionaire's floor, before he can protest.

The elevator door closes just as Tony turns around to argue with his Science Bro, that sneaky bastard. He turns back to face his rarely used penthouse, settling his eyes on the couch. He considers throwing himself onto it and not moving for a week, but if Bruce talked to Pepper about this meeting that must mean she made him promise that he would actually show up. An angry Pepper Potts is not his idea of a good time, at least not when he isn't making her angry on purpose.

He makes a silent promise to his couch that he'd be back for it later, and grudgingly disappears into his room and into his bathroom for a quick shower and shave.

It's 7:10 when Tony steps out of the elevator again. He's wearing a suit, yet he somehow manages to make it look casual. The jacket is unbuttoned, and the dress shirt beneath is a simple white, accompanied by a red tie that hangs loosely from his neck, hiding the gentle blue glow of the arc reactor. His hair is clean- the grease a distant memory soon to return- and his beard is freshly shaven. He still looks tired, but it somehow makes him look more like a businessman. He doesn't know how, but leave it to Tony Stark to make a suit look casual yet professional at the same time.

"My eyes are up here, Banner." The billionaire teases, giving a flirtatious wink as he strolls by, making a break for the coffee machine. He pours himself a cup and does nothing short of relish in the flavor when he finally gets it into his system.

"Very funny," The physicist rolls his eyes and takes a sip of his tea, flipping a page in the magazine he's taken interest in. They stand in a comfortable silence until Natasha strolls into the kitchen. Arguably her impossibly light footsteps don't do much to break the silence, but upon seeing the billionaire actually awake at a normal time and dressed in work clothes, there's bound to be a comment. It's a rare sight to see, since he's always in his lab and when they do see him, he's hardly ever dressed up.

"Oh my god it's Tony Stark! Will you sign my boobs?" She gives a forged gasp and leans across the counter as if admiring him from afar, twirling a lock of fire red hair around her finger.

"Only if you sign mine first." He replies, leering at her from behind his mug.

She rolls her eyes but grins at him anyways, walking around the counter towards him. She reaches for his tie and adjusts it the slightest bit before straightening out his undershirt and jacket. He visibly tenses, knowing that it's perfectly acceptable to fear for his life with the world's deadliest assassin standing but 8 inches away from him.

"Do you have a pen?" He gives her his shit eating grin, figuring that if she's going to kill him he'll at least go out with a snarky comment. She says nothing, but instead tightens his tie just a little too tight, giving him a pat on the cheek before stealing his mug of coffee. He coughs a few times as she walks away, loosening his tie again and turning back to the carafe of coffee, reaching up to the cabinet for a new mug. He probably deserved that, but in all fairness _she_ started it.

Bruce just chuckles at his friend's misfortune, or possibly his fortune, considering Natasha could have easily killed him just moments ago, and losing a cup of coffee is but a small price to pay.

The assassin slides into the seat next to Bruce at the counter, sipping her stolen coffee. When Tony turns back around he gives her the stink eye, but it fades to an innocent smile when she gives him that 'you're lucky I didn't kill you just now' look.

"What's with the facial conversation?"

Tony looks over the rim of his mug to see Barton hanging from the air vent in the ceiling, dropping down onto the counter.

"Sorry, Bird Brain, it's kind of hard to talk shit about you when you're always lurking in the vents." Tony shrugs and downs the rest of his coffee. He shares a look with Natasha, who wiggles her eyebrows back at him as if they've actually created a facial version of sign language.

"Ha. Ha." The archer looks back and forth between them before settling his gaze on the billionaire, "What's up with the certified douche bag look?"

"I'm sorry, that's classified certified douche bag business." He deadpans, doing his best impression of some stuck up SHIELD agent as he walks past the marksman, giving him a pat on the shoulder before he disappears into the elevator.

The billionaire glances at his watch; exactly 7:30- perfect timing. JARVIS takes the elevator down to the garage, where Tony decides to take his Audi, because he loves that damn car. He grabs the keys and gets in, giving his hair a final once over in the rear view mirror before he drives to the meeting. He pulls into his personal parking spot at precisely 7:50, and if Pepper were here to see him actually on time, she might have a heart attack. He makes his way inside, giving the woman at the front desk a smile and a nod, knowing he doesn't have to check in because he's Tony Stark and of course he doesn't.

When he arrives at the meeting, he's seriously considering running out the door before anyone gets the chance to see him. He's surrounded by 50-60 year old men who literally do nothing but sit on their asses and accepts their fat paychecks at the end of each month. Since the universe pretty much hates him though, the man closest to the door spots him. He walks up and shakes his hand, then the rest of the men's hands, making a mental note to scrub the old man cooties off of his hands as soon as possible. They take their seats at the horrifically large conference table, and get straight to business. Of course, Tony isn't exactly paying much attention. He's running calculations in his head and thinking of new ways to improve the Stark Phones and Stark Pads.

"Mr. Stark?"

"Hm?" He shakes his head and looks around the room for the one who voiced his name, but honestly he's clueless because they all sound the same to him. "Uh, yes? Yes, sorry." The man gives a nod, but the billionaire can see in his eyes and the way his jaw is set that he's slightly annoyed at the billionaire's attention span. He continues speaking once the genius appears somewhat focused, but knowing it's a lost cause he probably just decides against attempting to grab his full attention ever again.

He sits patiently for another hour, and he's managed to make it look like he's at least mildly interested in the conversation, even though his mind is actually back in his lab making mental suit repairs. At some point in the meeting he picked up his pen, making a few notes on his paper about what the man is saying, but eventually the notes turn into mindless doodling and new designs for projects he'll probably never get around to. He still prides himself for at least attempting to be a responsible adult who can actually take his job seriously, but there's a reason he made Pepper his CEO. Well, actually there are multiple reasons, but his being irresponsible is definitely up there on the list.

That's when _it_ happens.

One minute, he's staring off into space, focused on everything but the task at hand, and the next, he's being blown across the room by a sickly green blast of energy, followed by an all too familiar blue. He, along with the rest of the business men, is thrown across the room, the conference table having been blown to pieces.

The world is a bit hazy at first; his vision blurring and a high pitched ringing resonating in his ears. He shakes his head in a desperate attempt to clear the fog, and it works for the most part, just enough for him to roll up his sleeve and call the suit with that silver band. His fingers hastily trail to his other arm, pressing a button on the side of his watch as he goes into a brief coughing fit as a result of the dust and debris.

"Avengers As-" He manages to choke out the Avengers part, and he's hoping that's good enough because his lungs don't want to cooperate, and it feels like his whole body is turning against him as he falls into another coughing fit. He's suddenly aware of every bruise, every open wound, and the lack of oxygen through the thick clouds of dust. His head is spinning again, and he's spiraling further and further into darkness with each passing moment. Red clouds his vision and he finally gives in, letting himself slip into unconsciousness.


	17. Semi-Responsive

The surface beneath his body is cold and solid when he wakes, so he knows he's not in his bed. Grudgingly he cracks an eye open, then the other. There's a blanket draped over his shoulder, and there are unpainted pieces of the Iron Man armor scattered out on the floor in front of him.

So, the floor; that would explain why he's feeling slightly stiff.

He shuffles to his feet, stretching his arms above his head with a yawn. After folding up the blanket and tossing it on the couch, he begins to scan his surroundings. Tony's workshop is, to say the least, and orderly mess. There are coffee mugs everywhere, tools littering every possible surface, and a surprising amount of paper, considering the genius mostly uses his holograms for his work. Though there's not a single clear table or workbench in the entire room, everything seems to have a general place. There is however, one thing missing; Tony Stark.

"Tony?" Steve wanders around for a minute in search of the billionaire, but when there's no sign of him he finally concludes that he's just not here.

"Um, JARVIS?" He looks up at the ceiling despite how many times Tony told him he doesn't need to; it's just a habit, somewhere to look.

_"Good morning, Captain Rogers. How may I be of assistance?"_

"Where is Tony?" He picks up a stray screw driver and begins to fiddle it between his fingers.

" _Sir is currently at a Stark Industries meeting."_

"Oh, alright. Thank you." He tosses the tool back where he found it, walking back to where he had originally woken up.

_"You are very welcome, Captain Rogers."_

Steve can't help but feel at least slightly disappointed in Tony's absence. They've grown to be really good friends in the time the Avengers moved into the Tower. He shakes his head and reaches for his sketchbook and drawing pencil from the floor.

_'Tony is a busy man, he's allowed to have other things to do besides keep you company, Steve.'_ His mind instructs him. He begins to absent mindedly flip through the pages of his sketchbook, choosing to ignore the fact that he lingers on the drawings of Tony just a bit longer than the others. He's interesting to draw, especially when he's concentrating, that's all.

He closes the book, giving the workshop one last glance before stepping out, the door locking behind him as he makes his way to the elevator.

When he arrives on the common floor, he's greeted by Bruce, Clint, Natasha, and Thor. Banner is flipping through a magazine and sipping his usual cup of tea, and Natasha is next to him, sipping a cup of coffee while Clint is pestering her about some silent facial sign language thing or something like that; he's learned its better not to ask. Thor gives him a toothy grin between bites of the Pop Tart he's currently devouring. He gives them a nod and a good morning before opening the fridge.

"Sleep well?" Bruce has just slightest hint of amusement in his tone, but simply waits for an answer.

"Little stiff, but I guess I did, considering." He shrugs and starts pulling things off the top shelf and piling them on the counter by the stove.

"I would be too if I slept on a cement floor," Bruce makes no effort to hide his smirk this time, and Steve just gives him a shy smile.

He cracks an egg into the pan on the stove which, thanks to Tony's modifications, heats up within seconds, and begins to cook. He pops 2 pieces of toast into the toaster and pours himself a glass of orange juice. When his meal is done, he plates it and takes it to the table to eat.

They sat in silence for a while, just enjoying each other's company. At some point Clint and Natasha had wandered over to the couch in the living room, but Bruce just kept reading his magazine and making small talk with Steve. It was nice, actually. The atmosphere was calm and it felt safe, which is a comforting thought when your line of work is anything but.

An hour had passed and the soldier had long since finished his breakfast, but he found himself engaged in a conversation with Bruce about his time travelling the world. It was actually quite interesting, and sounded like it would have been a fun experience if he weren't running from the people who wanted to run experiments on him.

They were up to the part when Natasha found him to bring him into SHIELD before the battle, when the Widow herself marches into the room.

"You guys might want to come see this." Her tone said it all; something was wrong.

Steve and Bruce shared an equally concerned look before following her out into the living room. Clint gestured to the TV and the soldier stared in horror. There was a live broadcast of the Stark Industries building, a large hole in side near the top where misty green smoke was rising into the air. The reporters seemed to have no idea what was going on, but there was a small crowd gathering, police men attempting to herd them as far from the building as possible.

"Do you think-" Steve started but stopped midsentence when the back wall of the communal living room opened up, along with the exterior window. The suit activated, shooting past them and out the open window, most likely to Stark Industries. Before anyone could comment, the TV screen went fuzzy for a moment before a familiar voice sounded over the speakers.

"Avengers As-" There was a pause when the billionaire started coughing until finally he stopped making noise all together. Steve had to swallow the lump in his throat, and he knew that if he didn't have the serum, he would probably throw up.

They all shared a nervous glance before rushing out of the room to get ready. Steve took the stairs to his floor; he found it faster and he wasn't sure how much time they had. This had Loki written all over it, given the sickly green fumes they had seen on the news. When he arrived he quickly changed into his uniform, strapping his shield onto his back before heading to the QuinJet. The rest of the team arrived just as he did, all piling into the aircraft without so much as a word.

Steve was pacing in the back of the jet the entire way, clenching and unclenching his fists. Tony would be fine; he had called his armor, probably with those silver bracelet things. He is so glad the genius wore those things at all times; they really were useful. Even with that knowledge though, the sound of the billionaire's voice when he contacted them was not at all reassuring.

_"Sir? I believe you are beginning to show signs of consciousness. Can you hear me?"_

The soothing British voice of his AI was both comforting and painful. Comforting, because JARVIS has always been there for him, and is like his best friend, in a way. Painful, because his head was pounding and he didn't know why, and the voice did nothing to help the ringing in his ears. Still, he forced himself to grumble out a reply and open his eyes.

Upon realizing he was in the suit, he tried desperately to remember what the hell was going on, but also silently praised himself on the fact that this was not just him waking up with a hangover because he drank himself sick. That in its self could count as a win, at least.

"wh… hm?"

_"Nice to see you semi-responsive, Sir."_

"Don' sass me, J. S' goin' on?"

_"There was an explosion at Stark Industries. You called the suit before falling unconscious, Sir. The building is being evacuated as we speak and the other Avengers are on their way."_

Right, the board meeting. He shook his head to clear the blurriness of his vision as much as possible while JARVIS continued to speak. If there was an explosion and he survived, there's a chance those old business douche bags did too. That also means there's a good chance they too fell unconscious. He got to his knee, the suit supporting his shaky legs, and stood up. He felt dizzy for a good 15 seconds before he could efficiently scan what was left of the room for the men. JARVIS displayed their locations on his HUD, which he was incredibly grateful for because he probably would have just looked past them in his current condition. He stumbled over to one and pulled him up. Sure enough, he had fallen unconscious, and one look at the other said they had as well.

Great.

How the hell he was supposed to get 5 soporose old men to safety when he could barely stand, much less fly, and they were on one of the top fucking floors, he had no idea. But then he remembered that he had created the most advanced artificial intelligence in the entire world that was more than capable of handling the situation.

"J? J you gotta take control of the suit. M'kay? N't do it."

_"Of course, Sir. Please brace yourself."_

Suddenly the suit began to move on its own accord, or rather, JARVIS's. It scooped up two of the men, flying them out of the smoking hole and to safety below before coming back for two more and repeating the process until only one remained. Tony just lolled lazily in the suit, fighting for consciousness. He was lucky to have JARVIS.

When the suit returned to the damaged conference room for the final man, a figure began to form from the smoke that had been swirling around the room for quite some time. He figures he probably should have paid more attention to it, especially when his AI had informed him it was definitely Agardian but he was too out of it to pay any mind.

"Ugh, not you. Really? You ev'r heard of forgive n' forget?" He forced himself to try and speak clearly, not wanting his agonizing pain to be evident in his voice. "Seriously, please explain. What's your problem?"

"You're my problem; you pose a threat." Loki stepped forward, emerging from the smoke that seemed to form around them. He wore his usual disgusted smirk, the one that made Tony wonder why he ever wanted to rule humans in the first place if he hated them so much.

Tony had to laugh at that, and laugh he did; a genuine, teary-eyed life that made his protesting lungs burn with each breath. He realized how robotic and awkward it must have sounded through the suits speakers, but god damn.

"Oh man. That's gold; really it is. M' the only member of the team with no particular skill set 'r actual super power, yet you think I'm your greatest threat? Bruce was right; your brain truly is a bag full a' cats."

The Asgardian walked slightly forward, his gait menacing and purposeful. "Why yes. You see, with you gone, they have no more resources. They have no brains. They are weakened, and it will be evident. Once you're gone, it will be that much easier to take them all out. The problem was always you, Stark; a problem I have to deal with."

Tony had a hard time comprehending this reasoning, yet he had to admit; that last sentence sounded really familiar. Whatever; his head hurt too much and he was on the verge of passing out from the inappropriate laughing, so he just waited for the god to elaborate.

"You were the one who defeated the Chitauri. You, one man, defeated an entire army. I believe you also kept that floating fortress from falling from the sky, yes? Had you not done either of those, I may very well be your king; _their king._ " The God practically growled the last words as he gestured to around him. Tony flinched back as the god continued to saunter up to him.

"You really need to get your priorities straight, buddy." He took a few steps back though he maintained his stance protectively over the unconscious civilian he had yet to bring to safety.

"Tony?" A voice cut through his com link and he could not have been happier to hear it, "Tony, are you alright? Report in."

JARVIS turned off the suits external speakers so he could speak to the Captain privately, "I'm fine, for now. Loki's here. I'll stall as long as I can but there's still a civilian and I'm not sur- what the- that's impossible… what are you d-"

"Iron Man? Tony? …Tony?!" The voice was screaming into his com but he had no answer. It wasn't mind control, he knew that for sure, because he was aware and he could voluntarily wiggle his limbs in what little 'extra' space there was in the suit. It took him a minute before he finally realized what was happening:

Loki was controlling the suit.


	18. Love Tap

"That's im-… impossible," He chokes out between gritted teeth, trying his best to manually move the armor but it was useless. He's straining his muscles for no reason, because he knows it won't budge unless Loki lets it, but he still had to try. There was still a civilian, and he'd be damned if the poor guy was going to get caught in a fire fight. He needed to get the last business douche bag out of the building; that was his top priority. Loki seemed to be ignoring the unconscious man for the time being, but the Asgardian is completely unpredictable. It was a risk he was unwilling to take. The billionaire made a mental note to fucking murder the bastard if he got out of this alive, because Loki was really getting on his nerves.

"Now, now, you know nothing is truly impossible." His grin is wicked and dark, sending shivers through the genius's spine. "My power is not limited to minds, Man of Iron. This is where you are mistaken."

Okay, not good; really, really not good. He needs to come up with a plan, and fast, but as far as he can tell, there's not much he can do. Jarvis isn't online, and how Loki managed to get him out of the system is beyond him at the moment. His only hope is the Avengers.

Suddenly, the suit rises, he can feel the boot repulsors activating beneath his feet, his arms involuntary falling to his sides, palms down.

"There is, however, truth to your words."

"That your mind is a bag full a' cats? I mean, ser'sly, Banner's a genius. I really think I c'n smell crazy on you." Tony really should stop fucking talking, but he's pretty sure his brain to mouth filter was damaged even more so than usual when he hit his head.

"That you're friends are a thorn in my side, you meager mortal." He snaps back, the hatred and rage seeping past his tongue. He makes a sharp gesture with his hand, a vile shade of green following the motion and encompassing the suit. "I'll make you kill them, all of them, and when you're done, I'll slaughter you myself. That horrid creation you call armor will be nothing more than your coffin."

Before Tony could offer a witty remark to the God, he's flying out the window, the world tinged green from the glow surrounding him. He's still struggling to move, to take control of the suit, and god, please don't let that be the Quinjet in the distance.

"No no no! Come on, Jarvis, buddy, wake up!"

Of course it's the Quinjet, and he's flying directly at it. He kind of feels the urge to throw up, but he can't even open the faceplate and he really, really does not want that. His head is still fuzzy but the rush of adrenaline seems to be the only thing keeping him semi-coherent. There are voices shouting in his ears, but he can't exactly make out what they're saying. He can kind of hear his name but he has no idea where it's coming from.

Then he remembers his com still works, he's just been too dumb struck to use it, or realize that his team has been trying to talk to him. He'd never admit it, but being alone in a room with Loki freaks him out. Now the God has control of his suit, the one thing that's meant to protect him and his team, and the whole situation is seriously terrifying. The fear is a constant itch in the back of his mind, and if fear was a liquid he's pretty sure it would be oozing out of his skin and flooding the entirety of New York.

"Tony?!"

Right, coms. If he could use his limbs and face palm right now, he would.

"I don't know who the fuck is flying the jet but you need to fucking move, now! Are you hearing me?! Guys it's not me. Well it is me but I can't control the suit an- oh fuck fuck _fuck!"_ He comes to an abrupt stop, affectively shutting him up as the suit hovers in the air in front of the approaching jet, his right arm raising and a repulsor blast firing at the aircraft.

"What the hell, man?!" Clint's voice cuts through the com at the same moment the Quinjet dodges the blast, shooting right past him and the wing just barely missing clipping off his damn head.

"I told you I can't control it. You guys need to land, right fucking now before you have to crash land." His breathing is increasing rapidly, and he's vaguely aware that his voice might be the slightest bit shaky because oh god, he could kill his friends. Loki is going to kill him and his friends with his greatest creation, just like Obadiah tried to do.

_'Now is NOT the FUCKING TIME. Get it together, Stark. Stark's are made of Iron.'_

He should really listen to his brain.

And his friends, who have not ceased shouting into their communication links.

"Alright, just calm down buddy." The jet swerves to the side once more as the armor fires another repulsor at the backside of the aircraft, "We'll send Thor out to get y-"

"NO!" He cuts the archer off, clearing his throat when he realizes the slight slip of his anxiety. "Send Thor to the building; Loki is still there as far as I know, and there's still a civilian trapped." He takes a moment to breath, his stomach dropping when the suit follows behind the jet. "Barton, you gotta use one of those Anti Iron Man arrows as soon as you land."

"Are you insane?" Another swerve, this time to the right as the jet makes for a clearing the authorities have left for their landing, "You'll fall out of the sky!"

"Yeah, well the civilian is the priority. I'll be fine; the suit will take most of the damage." He knows this is at least partly a lie. When the suit is online, the limbs lock up so his body is supported and doesn't sustain any serious injuries, but the armor is just dead weight when it's offline. Really, really heavy dead weight, but they don't need to know that. It's the only way, and they don't have time for a debate when there are innocent people who could get caught in the crossfire.

There's a grunt before the communication cuts, the jet landing in the clearing left by the police. The team piles out just as the suit lands in front of them. Thor immediately takes off by Steve's orders, headed towards the still smoking Stark Industries building. Another repulsor blast fires from his left hand, hitting Steve's shield as the others take cover behind it.

"Any time now, Bird brain!" He shouts into his com.

The suit flies up again, giving him the aerial advantage, though it really isn't an advantage given the circumstances, and the urge to vomit is very much present in his stomach again. He's involuntarily firing repulsor blasts and the occasional miniature explosive, each one making contact with either the shield or the street below, the super spies dodging with little to no effort. Natasha shoots a few useless bullets at the joints of the suit, but it doesn't seem to make much difference.

"I only have one of those arrows with me, I need a clear shot," Clint grunts, dodging a series of blasts, ducking and rolling away from the threat.

"I MADE YOU AN ENTIRE QUIVER'S WORTH."

"I DIDN'T THINK I'D NEED THAT MANY."

"Oh my god, at least 2 or 3, _fucking hell Barton_ \- ow fucking what the- _ow!"_ Steve's shield slams into his left side, quickly followed by a blow in the center of his chest plate. The impact painfully pushes at the arc reactor embedded in his chest, briefly knocking the wind out of him as it slams into what little space there is around it and his lungs.

"Rogers, I know this is a tough situation, but could you _please_ not aim for my artificial he- _oh, fuck-"_ The shield hits him again, and he goes into another coughing fit as he struggles to catch his breath, the soldier's voice cutting into the com.

"Sorry, oh god, are you okay? I already threw it an-"

"MOVE!" He shouts back, cutting off the soldier's useless apology, his lungs in protest at the action, but it's too late, a blast hits the soldier, skimming his left side and sending him to the ground.

Natasha rushes over to Steve's aid, grabbing his shield to protect them both as she checks him over, "He needs medical. Now. Barton, hurry up with that arrow."

"I only get one shot, Nat! Get Steve out of here." He says, dodging blast after blast, waiting for the right opening. It's obvious the archer is hesitant about shooting Iron Man out of the sky. He has to be at least 80 feet up by now, the suit having been slowly but consistently rising. Even though the billionaire's taken worse, he knows how heavy those suits are, even if Tony is purposefully leaving that part out.

There's a gust of wind, the crack of lightning audible in the distance, when Thor arrives at the Stark Industries building. He lands where the smoke is pouring out the hole in the side of the tower, stepping cautiously through the swirling green fog.

The sickly green mist swirls around him, and the occasional figure of an avenger or of the warriors three and lady Sif could be seen. They'd move all around him, seeming as though they are in battle before dispersing in a puff of smoke.

"Enough of your childish schemes, Brother. Show yourself." The God of Thunder's voice is stern and commanding, echoing in the eerie space surrounding him.

"I thought I made it clear; we are not brothers." The words were spat out like poison to the tongue, harsh and filled with malicious intent.

Thor halts in the center of the room, slowly turning around to see a misty figure form into that of a tangible man.

"Why are you doing this, Br- Loki? Your quarrel lies with me-"

"No." Loki cuts him off, his words as sharp as knives, "Your… Avengers, my quarrel lies with them. In this way, I suppose this includes you, though it is not limited. The soldier, the spy, the archer, the beast, the Man of Iron, all them; you've all stolen what was and is rightfully mine."

"I'm sorry Brother, but I'm afraid I cannot allow that. Please forgive me." The Thunderer raises his hammer, ready to fight should Loki choose to do this the hard way.

"WE ARE NOT-" Loki sighs, annoyed with the Odinson's loyalty and arrogance, "I am not your brother."

The sorcerer lunges forward, aiming his scepter at the God, who blocks the attack with his hammer. Thor pushes forward, sending Loki back a few steps. Another swing from the trickster, and another blocked attack by the would-be King. They go on like this for a short while longer, one or the other taking the occasional step forward or backwards.

The mist around them starts to swirl frantically, though the movement goes unnoticed by Thor until a figure jumps at him from behind. He takes a moment to swing at it with mjolnir, leaving it to fade away with the rest of the smoke.

Loki takes the distraction as an opportunity to strike. A strong blow to the jaw and a blast of blue energy from his scepter sends the Thunderer stumbling backwards, onto the ground. The trickster lays a heavy foot on his chest, raising the blade of the scepter, ready to send it through the Asgardian's head.

Thor summons mjolnir before his brother could seize the chance, the hammer slamming into his opponent and effectively knocking him off. He regains his footing, quickly sending a punch to Loki's jaw to keep him down.

"Now, Thor, you've gone soft being around your beloved mortals. That was a mere love tap." The trickster wipes his nose, a mischievous grin tugging at his lips as he recovers from the attack.

"Captain," Natasha gently taps their leaders cheek, walking alongside the gurney from the SHIELD medical team, "Steve, come on, stay with me. You're going to fine, okay?"

"N'tasha?" There's a pained groan from the injured super soldier, his head lolling from left to right in attempt to focus and stay conscious, "r's Tony?" Even through the biting agony, Steve still manages to sound genuinely concerned for his team mate.

"Clint's working on it. He'll be okay, just worry about you right now. Eyes on me." The stretcher is hoisted up and into the SHIELD ambulance. She climbs in after him, the paramedics already getting to work on the soldier's injuries. The repulsor clipped his side, but it was enough to knock him down and there was a good bit of blood loss. Thanks to his healing factor, he should recover just fine, but for now it seems he'll be in and out of various stages of consciousness.

She gave his hand a reassuring squeeze, the doors of the ambulance shutting and the van vacating the area.

"You're alright, Steve. Tony's going to be fine."

The thing is, she wasn't sure if that was entirely true.


	19. Iron Man is Down

The street is covered in dust and debris and pieces of pavement torn up from series of repulsor blasts and other various weapons, leaving chunks of asphalt scattered about. The area has been evacuated, and a perimeter is set up to ensure the safety of the civilians, but Tony can't get his mind off that last man at SI. He knows Thor is more than capable of handling the situation, but Loki is a wild card, and there's still no sign of Bruce. He's a good way up in the air, and a fall from this point, if it doesn't kill him, would undoubtedly end in injuries. Clint is still stuck on the ground, ducking and dodging from the line of fire. Cap and Widow are at medical, and Tony still feels horrible for what he did to Steve, even if it wasn't exactly him.

"Clint, you have to take the shot. Please, I'll be fine." By this point, he has no idea how many times he's said that, but he doesn't know what else to do. Arguably Clint is having a hard time catching a long enough break to set up a truly accurate shot, but they're running out of time. Eventually Hawkeye won't be able to dodge or roll out of the way, and Tony won't be able to do anything to help him.

"I'm trying here! Isn't there-" There's a pause, the archer grunting as he dives, just barely missing being blown up, before he continues, "anything you can do?"

"I've been trying, Big Bird. I don't know how Loki is doing this, but I can't do a damn thing. You have to take it, Clint. This isn't helping anyone and it's not stopping Loki. This is exactly what he wants to happen."

"I know, okay?" Another pause before he continues speaking, "It's just that I can't exactly catch you, and Thor isn't around. Banner isn't responding, either. He was in the jet when we landed but no one has heard from him since. Not even sure he's still there."

"I'd ask Jarvis, but even he's not online, which is very unnerving if I- Left, left!" He shouts at the archer, who, thank god, follows his directions and all but vaults over an overturned vehicle, avoiding a series of explosives. He sighs in relief, but the feeling doesn't last long. That was too close for his comfort, and this needs to end.

"Take it. Now."

There's a moment of silence, Barton obviously going over his very limited options once last time before he makes his decision.

"Don't die."

The archer rolls out from behind the car, drawing his bow string as far as it will go, lining up his shot while simultaneously dodging repulsor blasts. He perches atop a chuck of pavement and releases the string, sending the arrow directly at the armor.

It hits the chest plate dead center.

Tony's HUD flickers a few times before going out completely, his only visual coming from the eye slits, which, granted, are very hard to see out of. His stomach drops the exact moment the repulsor boots shut down, along with the rest of the suit as it falls from the sky. The world is spinning in what little view he has, and it's doing nothing to help his urge to vomit. The com is out now, but as he gets closer to ground he's pretty sure he can hear Clint yelling for him. He knows how horrible Barton must feel for having to literally shoot him out of the sky, and Tony feels horrible that he put that responsibility on him, but he knew the archer would do what needed to be done.

He squeezes his eyes shut, the world spinning through the eye slits and the actual motion of spinning becoming slightly over whelming. He's breathing heavily, his heart pounding mercilessly against the arc reactor in his chest. It feels too much like falling out of the wormhole in New York, except it's worse this time because he's conscious and he has oxygen and there's nothing he can do but wait for the inevitable and-

There's an excruciating pain, and he's pretty sure he screamed, before the world goes completely black.

"Stark is down." Clint speaks into his com, running over to the crash site of the armor. There's a pretty decent hole in the street from the force of the impact, and the kicked up dust in the air isn't making his journey into the pit any easier. When finally gets close enough, he feels like he's going to be sick.

The armor is face down, the left side dented and blood dripping from where the metal caved inwards, right into the mechanic's flesh. There's a pretty large piece of pavement crushing the right leg and part of the right side of the armor, but Clint can't really know the extent of the injuries there until the rock can be moved. The metal is dented and scraped in countless places, and there's no sign of movement; no way to tell if Tony is even alive.

"Is he alive?" Natasha's voice cuts through the com, calm and collected sounding as ever.

"I can't tell. The damage to the armor is pretty bad, and there's blood coming from his left side, a giant piece of cement crushing his right. Send the medical team, and try to get a hold of Thor. How's Rogers?" The archer does his best to keep his voice just as calm as Widow's, but it's hard when his friend is quite possibly lying dead in the street by his hand.

"He'll be fine, he's asking about Tony, though. I'll keep you posted."

"Yeah."

The Trickster presses his scepter against the force of Mjolnir, wearing the same murderous smirk across his face. Thor is staring him down, as if his brother would just look him in the eyes and things would go back to how they used t be between them, and everything would be alright. The hopeful stare turns into one of confusion and worry when Loki's lips pull back into a toothy, vicious grin, chuckling through his teeth. The Odinson spares a glance at the unconscious human he was sent to rescue, reassuring himself that the man is still there before turning his gaze back to his brother.

"May I ask what is so humorous about this?" The Thunderer inquires, pushing Loki back and away.

"I'm afraid it seems the Man of Iron is no more."

Something seems to snap in the Asgardian's head, a sudden feeling of grief for his fallen brother; a man who was more a brother to him than the one standing before him. He glares at the trickster, the one he was raised with, but the same one he can feel nothing but anger and hatred for at this very moment. He raises his hammer, suddenly prepared to do whatever is necessary, no matter how long he's spent trying to convince himself there was still a bit of the real Loki left, and that it would never come to this, because he'll do what he must.

"End this now, so that I do not have to end you." His voice is low and threatening, more so now than ever. Outside the hole in the building, through the still rising smoke, a crack of lightning can be heard. Mjolnir sparks once or twice without the Thunderer even intending it, the action fueled by pure anger from his deep seeded sense of loss and mourning, for the Man of Iron as well as the Loki he once knew.

"Please. You've plenty of chances to do just that, and you've neglected to take even one." Loki grins and raises his scepter again, nearly mimicking the menacing stance of his foe.

"Yes, but I no longer believe there is hope for you. Brother, you leave me no ch-"

Thor is cut off by a blast of blue energy, causing him to drop his hammer and sending him to the ground, the attack followed by bitter, cruel words that have become all too familiar.

"I. Am not. Your. _Brother."_ There's another blast of energy as Thor makes to get up, pushing the Asgardian back to the floor with a grunt of pain, further from his weapon. He extends his arm in attempt to summon Mjolnir, but a heavy boot crushes his hand before he can succeed. Loki smirks and raises his scepter above his head, the blade ready to pierce the downed man.

He's just about ready to finish the job when an angry roar echoes just outside the hole in the side of the building. Loki flinches, looking up from his injured opponent just as the calm of the rising smoke is disrupted, a green beast flying through the haze and directly for the trickster.

The Hulk pins down the traitorous Asgardian, freeing Thor in the process. He lets out an enraged growl in the man's face, holding his body to the floor in a giant green fist.

Thor approaches from behind the beast, hammer in hand. He stares down at his brother, his eyes full of sadness and regret, before he turns to look at Hulk.

"Thank you, my friend."

The Hulk grunts, turning his head to look at the Asgardian, "Tin man down."

"I have been made aware. I will handle my brother, as well as the civilian. I sense your assistance may be required elsewhere." He nods at the beast, clutching his hammer with a white knuckled grip.

The giant lifts Loki, still restrained in his grip, before slamming him back into the floor, effectively knocking him out so he has no means of escape. He grunts at Thor before staggering backwards, abandoning the two Asgardians and jumping out the building.

There's a roaring in the distance, causing the archer to look up from the motionless armor keeping him from the unresponsive genius. He squints into the sky when a giant green blob appears from seemingly out of nowhere. The Hulk lands just outside the pit from the impact of the armor, shaking the ground a bit, before he makes his way into the hole.

"Hey there, big guy." Clint hesitantly gets to his feet, holding his hands up in a placating gesture. "Could really use your help. I need you to move this piece of pavement. Can you do that?" He points to the rock still crushing the right side of Tony's armor, being careful to keep his other hand raised in a non-threatening manner.

Hulk growls upon seeing the damaged armor, the small puddle of blood noticeable on the left and the heavy cement on its' right side. He roars and grabs hold of the chunk of asphalt, lifting it as if it were a piece of paper, and moving it aside.

The right side of the armor isn't much better, but Clint is relieved to see that the metal hasn't caved in like the left, though it is dented to hell and undoubtedly crushing the man inside. Hulk snarls deep in his throat, approaching the suit and turning it over so it's on its' back in a way that is surprisingly gentle.

"Thanks, big guy." He steps a little closer, inching towards the armor as subtly as he can. "I know it's been a while since you've been out, but I could really use Bruce right now."

"Tin Man hurt."

"I know. Iron Man is hurt, but Bruce can help. You want to help Tony, right?" Clint steps a little closer, and when the Hulk gives what he assumes is an affirmative grunt, he grins. "Right, that's what I thought. Can you get Bruce for me, big guy?"

There's another grunt before the beast starts to shrink, the green color fading to a more natural pink. Bruce stumbles forward a bit, taking a moment to catch his breath before turning to look at Clint, then to the armor.

"Oh God." He regains his balance and practically runs to his friends side, hastily running his hands over the broken armor. Clint kneels beside him just as the doctor finds the release latch for the helmet. He removes it and sets it aside, revealing a very pale and very unresponsive Tony Stark, blood dripping from his hairline.

The archer swallows hard, raising a shaky hand to his ear to activate his com. He takes a moment to collect himself before speaking, his eyes never leaving the unconscious man before him.

"Iron man is down."


	20. Emotions

"Iron Man is down."

The words are clear and crisp through her ear piece. She can hear the worry and the anguish in her best friend's voice; she's heard it more times than she can count, and can recognize it in a heartbeat. The smallest bit of emotion must creep its' way onto her face, for the briefest moment tampering with her usually collected features, because the look she gets from the super soldier is terrifying. As quickly as the emotion had come, she had wiped it clean, kicked it under the rug; out of sight and out of mind. Unfortunately, it wasn't quick enough that Steve didn't notice it, and she mentally curses herself for allowing such a slip.

"Steve…" She starts, but there are no words. She's not the best with feelings, and it's no secret, but usually she can pull some sort of sympathetic, meaningful bullshit facade out of her ass, but it doesn't come. She's feels an unfamiliar thump in her chest, and she takes notice of how she actually feels kind of sick.

_Emotions._

That's right; this must be what _emotions_ feel like.

She's never longed to return to her normal, detached and impassive-self more than she does right now, and she doesn't even care how fucked up that sounds. She doesn't care how fucked up her normal is, because at least when she's her own _normal,_ she doesn't have to deal with childish things like _feelings._

"Don't… he's not…" Steve swallows hard, his shoulders tensing as he sits up in the pristine, white hospital bed. His heart is pounding in his chest, and he ignores the brief pain he feels in his side. Tony can't be dead. It was only last night that they had talked in his workshop, and it was easy; it felt right. He's not ready to give that up yet, because there was still so much he didn't know about Tony and his heart practically skipped a beat at the notion that he may never know those things. It was similar to how he felt after the invasion in New York, only months ago, when Tony lay dead in the street, his arc reactor dark. The relief he felt when the mechanic woke up was like a wake-up call to him, but now, the only thing he felt was an almost painful wrenching in his gut. "…Is he?"

"Iron man is… down." Natasha repeats Clints words, her voice quiet and her body just as tense as Steve's.

"Shouldn't we… I don't know, take it off?" Clint gestures to the armor, quickly pulling his arm back to his chest so the Doctor doesn't notice how badly his hands are shaking.

"I don't think so. Not yet. We need Thor to help move him. If he…if he lives that long. He probably has a broken bone or two. The armor joints lock up when the power shuts down, so it should serve as a decent brace for any fractures for now." Bruce's voice may or may not have cracked once or twice throughout his rambling, and Clint may or may not have noticed the man's eye's tearing up a bit as he stares down at his friend's- _their friend's-_ still form.

"I… can we get through to Jarvis, or something? Can't he run a scan; see how long he's got? Check his pulse again."

"Jarvis won't be of any use so long as the suit is offline." The Doctor lets his eyes wander over the armor, before settling on the reactor in the center, still glowing blue, though it's fainter with the broken armor. "His light's on this time, so that's a good sign. My biggest concern is the blood loss… I don't know…" He swallows hard, gesturing to where the armor had caved in, right into their friend's flesh. There's still some blood dripping out, joining the small pool that had formed beside it, and slightly staining Banners stretchy pants, though he doesn't seem to notice.

Bruce looks hopelessly at Clint, his eyes sad and desperate, "I'm not that kind of Doctor."

Clint stares him down for a moment. His own sorrow turning into a rush of determination; he refuses to give up on Tony. He won't. No matter what the billionaire's opinion of himself is, no matter how unintentionally rude he can be, he's a part of their team. Tony Stark gave him a home, and he's part of Clint's _family,_ something he hasn't had in a long time. It doesn't matter to him how fucked up the genius is, because they're all fucked up, and that's okay. What's not okay is losing a member of their family, not if there's even the slightest chance they can save him.

Clint reaches his hands forward, ignoring the way they tremble, and slaps them down roughly on the Doctor's shoulders, giving him a shake, as if his own determination could fire him up. "Bruce, I don't care what kind of Doctor you are. Tony is _dying_ , and he needs our help; he needs _your_ help. Don't lose it on me now, Doc. We don't have time for this." Bruce seems to take in the seriousness of the archer's tone, and it must work to some extent because he nods. "Good. Now what do we need to do?"

"I… Give me your shirt."

"Okay." Normally, Clint would make some cheesy joke or a one liner, but now was not the time. He hastily pulls his quiver off his back, setting it on the ground beside his bow. He pulls off his shirt and bunches it up, passing it to the doctor.

"Okay. You're going to remove the chest plate, and I'll hold pressure to his wound. Removing the chest should be fine, as long as we don't remove that right leg, possibly right arm? I can't tell. Ready?"

Clint nods and reaches for the emergency release latches the genius had showed the entire team, should they ever need the information. He gives one last nod to Bruce and pulls the plate off. It comes up with a 'click,' and possibly a…'squelch?' from where it had caved into their friend's side. As soon as he gets it into the air, blood is dripping off the interior. He sets the deceivingly heavy metal aside for the time being. When he looks back, Banner already has his shirt pressed against the wound, trying to stop the blood from gushing out, and simultaneously trying to remove the stray piece of metal that lodged itself into the billionaire's side.

Clint reaches for the shirt, replacing Bruce's pressure so the doctor can work with both hands. Bruce rips the billionaire's once white dress shirt open further to give him more room, and doesn't even hesitate reaching his hand into the wound.

The way Banner has his hands practically _inside_ of Tony makes the archer want to throw up. Bruce's hands are covered in blood, which he ignores.

"Shouldn't you have… gloves or something?"

"Yes," Bruce pauses as he finally gets a grip on the metal, "But we don't have gloves, and I'd rather not leave this in."

When he finally gets the metal out, he tosses it beside the abandoned chest plate

"Now what?" Clint glances at the doctor, who's wiping his forehead with his forearm.

"Natasha is sending medical, you said?"

"Yeah."

"We wait, and try to keep him alive." Bruce looks back to Tony, poking at his ribs to make sure nothing is broken. "He might have a few cracked ribs… do you have a knife?"

Clint reaches for his ankle, rolling up the leg of his pants and producing a knife. He hands it to the other man.

"Sorry, Tony, I know you love your suits." He gathers the side of Tony's (very expensive) sports jacket, cutting a large strip of it off. He bunches it up and hands it to the archer, who places it next to where he's holding his own shirt against the wound.

They wait for about two more minutes before Thor appears, Loki bound and slung over his shoulder. The Asgardian drops the trickster to the ground, rushing to the billionaire's side.

"Is our friend well?"

"He's… hanging in there, but not for long. The armor is heavy, and we can't remove all of it because it's serving as a brace at the moment, so when the medical team gets here we're going to need you to lift him."

"Aye, anything for our fallen comrade," Thor's face is somber as he looks over Tony's body. His eyes catch the clothing pressed against his side, the blood already seeping through. He reaches for his cape and pulls it away, handing it to Bruce. "I believe he may need it more."

"Thank you," Bruce gives him a grateful nod before bunching up the cape and adding it to the pressure they're keeping on Tony's injury.

A minute or so later and a medical van is pulling up to the group of men, stopping just outside the small crater formed in the road. Bruce gives Thor a nod, and the blonde gathers Tony, armor in all, in his arms, lifting him as gently as he can. He carries him into the back of the vehicle, the medical team already working on his exposed injuries.

Thor steps out again, hoisting his unconscious brother into the ambulance as well, before climbing back in. They've removed the shirts by the time the remaining Avengers have piled in, and are working on disinfecting the wound.

Clint sits quietly by Thor, Bruce updating the SHIELD team on the expanse of Tony's injuries. He watches as they stitch up the gash, with surprisingly steady hands considering they were in a moving vehicle. They have an oxygen mask strapped to the billionaire's face, and they're working on opening up his shirt again. One reaches for the reactor, unsure what to do with it, but Bruce slaps their hand away, mumbling something about looking at it himself.

_Tony's going to be fine._

_He has to be._


	21. Don't Die

_"Take it. Now."_

_"Don't die."_

_Falling…_

_Falling…_

**_Pain._ **

There's a commotion beyond the entrance of the Captain's hospital room. By this point, he's completely healed, though the Doctor ordered that he remain in bed. All that remains of his wound is slightly bruised skin, but the act of rising hastily to his feet is no longer a struggle. He tilts his head in interest, his enhanced hearing aiding in his listening to the voices in the hallway.

"Steve?" Natasha stands from where she had sat beside his bed, placing her right hand across his chest, palm flat against his sternum and fingers splayed. "You're not supposed to be up-"

"Shh," He held up a hand to quiet the fiery red head as he tunes into the conversation. He realizes the rudeness of his actions and spares a glance down at her with an apologetic look, but it seems the noise had spiked her interest as well.

_"Get this armor off- there's still blood loss; we need to find out where it's coming from and tend to his other injuries,"_ a male's voice stood out from the others, the words spoken sending a chill down the soldier's spine.

He clenched his jaw, his shoulders tight and stiff as his heart pounds mercilessly in his chest. He swallows hard, trying to ignore the unfamiliar tightening in his throat as he chokes out the name that's been on his mind since he's arrived at the hospital, "…Tony?"

The seriousness of the situation clicked in his mind and he practically leaped to the door, flinging it open with such force that the handle punched a hole into the drywall behind it. Natasha was a step behind him as he stepped into the hall. There corridor was littered with nurses and a pair of doctors, all running alongside a hospital bed being rolled down the hall. Steve ran after them, ignoring the nurse that had approached him in attempt to keep him away.

"Captain Rogers," She addressed him, trying to hold him back as she pleaded, "Sir."

Still Steve ignored her, his eyes fixed on the still form being rolled away. He pushed past the nurse, being mindful of his strength even now as he followed after the bed. "Tony?" He called, hoping that maybe, just maybe the man was conscious. When there was no reply he called again, "Tony?!"

"Captain, Sir, you need to step back. We know what we're doing." One of the doctors approached, effectively stopping his advances as the other doctor and the nurses take the bed into a separate room.

Steve sways a bit on his feet at the glimpse he catches of Tony while the nurses turn the bed, the new angle providing a view of his left side. The cloth pressed against it is stained red, along with the sheets the man lays upon. There's dried blood on his hairline, a yellowish-turning-purple bruise forming on his cheekbone.

"Captain," The doctor addresses him again, "Mr. Stark is in good hands."

"I…" He swallows hard again, offering a small nod, "Will he be okay?"

"It's… it's hard to tell at the moment. Dr. Banner was barely keeping him alive when we arrived, and the medical team was unable to perform CPR because of the reactor in his chest. He… he's in critical condition, but nothing is set in stone." The doctor noticed the expression on the soldier's face before adding, "Trust us to save his life."

Steve nodded again, biting down hard on his bottom lip to suppress a scream. The anger at himself is bubbling up inside him, singeing the knotted rope of guilt in his stomach. The doctor started to turn away after returning the nod, but Steve remembered something the billionaire had told him before.

"Hey! Uh," He called after the man, who turned around with a raised eyebrow, "He um, he hates hospitals. Could you just, you know, let me know if- when- he wakes up?"

The doctor gave him a genuine smile, "Of course," He nodded again and disappeared into the surgery room, closing the door behind him.

The soldier stood there for a moment, staring at the closed door and wishing the curtains over the window weren't drawn, just so he could see for himself that Tony is still alive, even if it's by a thin thread. His attention was only averted when Bruce, Clint, and Thor came striding down the hall. The Doctor and the archer were both shirtless, and the Asgardian was missing his cape.

"What. Happened." He demanded as he took a step or two towards his team members, his eyes stern and dark.

"He fell from the sky… I… Steve it's my fault." Clint stepped up, his head hanging low in shame and regret.

"How?"

"He made me these… these 'Anti Iron Man' arrows. They shut down his suit… he made me use it on him when he couldn't regain control from Loki, but he was too high up…" He explained, his voice full of sorrow as he choked on a few of the words.

Steve closed his eyes, clenching his fists at his side as he recalls the conversation he overheard between Natasha and Tony. He knows it's not Clint fault, and he knows that the billionaire would have made him do it if it was for the better of the team and the citizens. He just can't help but feel responsible. It's his team; whatever happens to them will always feel like it's his fault.

"It's okay, Barton."

The archer offers a nod, not willing to argue the point when their leader is so tense.

"He uh, he lost a lot of blood," Bruce supplied, clasping his hands together behind his back and twiddling his thumbs, "We did the best we could, but he was pretty high… and that suit… it's heavy."

"I know." Steve sighed, running his hands through his hair in attempt to calm his nerves. His head whips around when a hand is gently placed on his shoulder. He lets out a breath of relief when the owner of the hand only turns out to be Natasha. She gives him a reassuring nod before leading him to a row of chairs against the wall outside the door of the surgery room. The rest of the team follows, Thor on the end, then Bruce, Clint next to him, then Natasha, with Steve on the other end.

_"Don't die."_

_Falling…_

He can't move. His body feels like a giant bruise, and his head is pounding in his skull. It's dark, and it might be because his eyes are closed but he can't muster up the energy to pry them open. There are voices, and he's pretty sure there's multiple machines beeping and whirring around him. He wishes he could say that it's dummy, but he knows that he knows better; a hospital, then.

"Tony?"

The voice is gentle and soothing, easing the constant pain spreading like waves through his body. There's a soft pressure on his right hand, followed by a tender squeeze.

"Hey, Tony?" The voice questions again, the pressure around his hand not even once wavering.

"Mm?" He figures the sound will have to do, because he's feeling a little dizzy and he hasn't even opened his eyes yet. The sounds of machines and the familiar voice start to fade as the sensation of falling returns. His head lulls to the side and he's out once again.

The soldier holds his breath for a moment as he gazes down at the unconscious genius. It was the first time he had woken up since being hospitalized one week ago. He had been warned that Tony would be in and out of consciousness, but it didn't make it any easier seeing the man so still and quiet.

He would wake up eventually, and he would stay up.


	22. Doodling

**DAY 1:**

On the first day Tony was hospitalized, the other Avengers remained just outside his room while the doctors operated on him. They told the team that Tony had some internal bleeding, but assured that it could be fixed with surgery and rest. They waited patiently in the hall during the operation, ignoring Director Fury's constant nagging for them to attend a debriefing.

Bruce had been the first of the group to nod off, the Hulk having tired him out from the day's events. His head lolled onto Clint's shoulder, who, instead off shoving him off, allowed him to stay, and eventually let his head rest on top of the Doctor's. He fell asleep like that, and they stayed in slumber for the remainder of the wait. Thor had sat with his head propped up by his hand, elbow resting on the arm rest of his hospital chair. He too nodded off at some point, leaving only Natasha and Steve awake.

"He's going to be okay, you know." She reassured him, noting the tension and concern that had been radiating off him in waves. "I don't mean to jinx anything, but that man is practically invincible." She offered the smallest of smiles, which was considerably rare for her.

"Right; the Invincible Iron Man." He deadpanned, casting her with a disbelieving glance, but still returning a slight smile for her efforts.

The two fell back into silence for a time, Black Widow giving him a measuring stare every now and then, but he didn't mind. It was her way of figuring out how to adjust to a situation she wasn't entirely sure how to deal with. Each time she had, he'd give the same reassuring little smile, nothing more than a simple quirk of his lips was all it took.

Occasionally a nurse would slip out from Tony's room, sparing them a glance but refusing to answer any of their inquiries. The nurses would simply state that they're doing everything they can, and then would proceed down the hall, only to return a few minutes later, disappearing into the room. Steve could never get a good enough look past the door because the men and women would only open it as much as they needed to enter, closing it just as quickly as it had been opened.

At some point the soldier and the assassin fallen victim to their need of sleep as well. Steve's head had lolled to the side; Natasha's resting on his shoulder closest to her. Normally she'd be doing everything in her power not to nod off, not to show weakness and display vulnerability, but the truth of the matter was that they were all vulnerable right now. One of their own was seriously injured, and though said man was always getting himself hurt, they all knew it was different this time around. He had lost a lot of blood, had a minor concussion, a broken right arm and leg along with some ribs, extensive bruising, accompanied by many cuts and scrapes. Not to mention his armor was as good as scrap metal now.

So there they remained, Earth's mightiest heroes strewed about in cheap hospital chairs, leaning lazily on one another as they slept. Three hours passed before Steve was awoken by the Doctor he had spoken to before.

"Captain Rogers, Sir?" The Doctor addressed warily, keeping to the side of the man in case he accidently woke one of the assassins instead.

Steve yawned once before opening his eyes. He blinked lazily a few times as he took in his surroundings. He observed the lack of visitors in the hallway of the hospital, deciding that it must be early in the morning, because the only people here were the Doctors and nurses. He focused on the Doctor's face that was standing above him, instantly shaking the sleep from his head. "Ah, um, yes?"

"Mr. Stark is out of surgery and is in stable condition as of now. He's still under, but it's no surprise given the amount of blood loss and the anesthesia we had him under, just in case." He informed, offering a small smile while still maintaining a professional manner.

Steve was on his feet in an instant, extending his arm to the man to shake his hand, "Thank you. Thank you, Sir." He nodded, glancing at his team, all of which who remained asleep except Natasha, who had probably been awoken when he stood.

"It's my job," He nodded, before adding, "If you and your team would like to see him, I'll allow it, so long as you promise to inform someone if he wakes."

Steve released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He wanted nothing more than to see Tony right now, even if he were still unconscious. He released the Doctor's hand from his grasp, murmuring another thank you as the man stalked away down the corridor, clipboard in hand.

"We can see him?" Natasha questioned from where she remained in her seat, raising an eyebrow at the super soldier, who nodded in reply. She turned to the archer next to her, gently shaking him awake. When he sat up, Bruce had awoken as well.

Banner shared a look with Steve that had apparently conveyed the message that they could see Tony now, because he slapped at Thor's arm next to him, startling the Asgardian awake.

"Has friend Anthony awoken?" Thor boomed, earning him a shushing from a passing nurse. He shared an apologetic look with her before rising to his feet, Mjolnir flying into his hand.

"No, but we're allowed to see him." Natasha informed. The god's face fell slightly, but he nodded regardless.

Steve reached for the handle of the door, opening it quietly but hastily. He stepped inside, his breath catching in his throat at the sight of the mangled genius. He was notably in better shape than the glimpse he had caught of him earlier that day, but he was still a mess. He stepped further into the room so as to allow the others entrance, but he never once took his eye from the billionaire.

The nurses had cleaned the blood from his hair and face, and there was no longer any blood pouring from his side. His right arm and leg were each encased in a white cast, and there were a few bandages in various places on his good arm, as well as a line of stitching on his forearm. The familiar blue glow of the arc reactor shone brightly in his chest, visible even through the white hospital blanket draped over his body.

When Bruce entered, the first thing he did was run to the billionaire's left side, pulling back the sheet to observe the wound he had tended to before. When the sheet was pulled aside, bandages wrapped around Tony's ribs were revealed, his sliver of his bare stomach visible just below his naval. Where the stitches were sewn into his side, the white bandage avoided, allowing the strip of skin to be seen in case the wound tore or needed to be cleaned. Giving it the seal of approval, Bruce pulled the blanket back up, covering the billionaire again.

Steve took cautious steps to Tony's right side, his eyes fixed on the little circle of light sitting in his friend's chest. He took comfort in seeing the familiar glow, because that meant that Tony at least wasn't dying from the inside out. He pulled up a chair, settling into it with no intention of leaving any time soon. The rest of the team had done the same, save Thor, who was clutching Mjolnir in his white knuckled grip and all but guarding the door. Clint was perched on a chair at the foot of the bed, his eyes scanning the billionaire's injuries, noting the new ones he had not seen before. Natasha was sat next to Bruce on Tony's left, her gaze flicking from Tony to Steve, and back again.

They sat in silence for the first half hour or so, just listening to the beeping of machines and the possibly slightly labored breathing of the genius. Clint must have been getting stir crazy, because eventually he just threw up his hands, mumbling a 'fuck this shit' before stalking out of the room.

The rest of the team just stared at each other, Bruce seeming like he was ready to comment when the archer stormed back into the room, an assortment of pens and sharpies of a variety of colors clutched in each hand. Steve raises an eyebrow at him, as does the assassin, but he doesn't complain when he's tossed a blue sharpie.

The archer smirks and hands Natasha the black one, Thor an electric blue one, Bruce a green one, and keeps a purple one for himself. Steve glances at the remaining colors Clint had tossed onto the bed, the red and gold in particular catching his eye. He glances at Tony then back to the sharpie, before taking them from the pile.

Thor leaves his post from the door, pulling up a chair like the rest of them. They sit huddled around the bed, uncapping their markers and leaning towards the billionaire's casts, which to an artist like Steve are basically the equivalent of being handed a human canvas.

Steve goes for Tony's right arm first, drawing the Iron Man helmet on the forearm of the cast, stealing the electric blue from Thor for a moment so he can color in the eyes. He studies his work, giving it an approving nod before turning his head to assess the other's doodling. The first thing he notices is that Clint has drawn nothing but dicks on Tony's leg cast, and is continuing to do so without a care in the world. He smirks and shakes his head, leaning forward to take in Natasha's work. She drew a spider with her black sharpie, and had stolen a red one to make it a Black Widow, which Steve figured was her version of a signature. Thor had drawn lightning bolts and some strange looking beast-creature thing; probably something from Asgard. Bruce seemed to have started drawing something that looked like a beaker, and maybe even a strand of DNA next to it, but had abandoned the drawing in favor of writing out equations along the billionaire's thigh.

Steve allowed himself a small grin before turning back to his own work. He couldn't help but notice how much more relaxed he feels, as well as the others, now that they can see Tony. They can see him, and even though he can't see them, they know he's alive and he's breathing and no longer bleeding out. His chest is rising and falling, the arc reactor following the motions. Steve had even unknowingly checked for Tony's pulse at one point, just to make sure it was there, and when it was he felt relief wash over him and he could finally focus on his work.

He realized that he hadn't really been paying attention to the movement of his hands while his thoughts had lingered, and he sees that he's drawing the design of his shield just below the Iron Man helmet. He finishes coloring the blue area around the star, and the drawing is complete. The arm, despite having two designs already on it, still feels too bare.

"Thor- can I borrow your blue again? Here, I'll trade you for my red." The Thunderer simply grins and makes the trade, handing off his precious electric blue to the soldier.

He reaches for the pile and grabs the other black. He uses it to draw a near perfect circle, considering he had nothing to trace. He adds a triangle in the middle, and then connects lines from the inner sides of the circle to the edges of the triangle inside. He includes a few more of the lines before reaching for his newly acquired blue, popping the cap off and shading around the black.

He admires his work, and though he knows it's nothing compared to the beautiful technical marvel that is the arc reactor seated in Tony's chest, glowing brightly through the white linen, it's pretty damn good, if he must say.

It's six AM now, and by this point there's barely a square inch of white space visible on either of Tony's casts. A few of the sharpies had dried out, and a pen or two had run out of ink, but the human canvas was truly a master piece, even if half of it was comprised of dicks, courtesy of Clint.

"We should head home for some rest and a shower," Natasha declares, sharing glances with her still battle worn team mates, all still clad in their uniforms, though weapons had been set aside. She stands when she receives a round of nodding, the others following her lead; all except for Steve.

"Come on soldier, you too." She teases, but he shows no sign of moving. She frowns and studies him for a moment, as if deciding whether or not it's worth it to argue with him about going with them.

He fixes his eyes on Tony's still form, the fact that Tony was still unconscious hitting him like a tidal wave. The playful bantering atmosphere they had fallen into while doodling on the casts had been enough to mostly distract him from that fact, but now that it was over his gut churned and clenched with quilt and worry. She must have seen his expression, gathering that he needed a little more time to make sure Tony would be okay, because she just lets out an exasperated sigh.

"Okay. We'll be back around noon, and you're coming back with us then. We'll bring you some clean clothing."

He nods and gives her a reassuring smile, "Thanks. Get some rest."

She nods, sparing Tony one last measuring look, before reluctantly stepping out of the room, shutting the door behind her with a gentle click.


	23. How are the kids?

**DAY 2:**

Natasha had returned with the rest of the team at exactly noon, just like she promised. She tossed a stack of clothes, containing a T-shirt, Jeans, some socks, and a sweatshirt at the Super Soldier. He was still seated by Tony's bed when she walked in, but looked up just in time to catch the offered clothes.

"Thanks," His voice was quiet, and it was tired.

"Go change. We'll stay with him," She promised.

He reluctantly stood and left the room, Natasha taking his spot beside the genius.

When Steve returned from the bathroom about 5 minutes later, he looked 10 times better. He was cleaner, and even though he was still exhausted, it was definitely an improvement.

The team simply gathered around Tony's bed, just as they had the night before, and it was silent.

**DAY 3:**

The team had to force Steve to leave the hospital the day before, Natasha insisting that he needed to rest, and that she would stay with Tony that night. He didn't want to leave, not at all, but he knew they wouldn't let him stay, and the sooner he got some sleep the sooner they'd let him come back. He trusted Natasha, he trusted them all, and he knew the billionaire would be in good hands so long as one of them remained by his side.

He woke up this morning feeling much more relaxed. He'll admit that he didn't sleep well that night, what with the nightmares of Tony falling, of Bucky falling, of the ice and the plane crashing, and then suddenly he's here. He's in this strange time full of strange people and everyone is just… gone. Every morning he wakes up, and he needs to take a minute to remember where he is, and then it hits him like a tidal wave, all rushing back at once.

He looks around his room, and he feels oddly alone for a moment until a familiar voice cuts through the silence.

_"Good morning, Captain Rogers."_

He allows a small smile to slip past his lips, "Good morning, Jarvis. Any news on Tony?"

_"Sir is still in stable condition. Agent Romanoff has been with him all night, to my understanding."_

That's a relief, and he takes a moment to let it wash over him, "Thank you, Jarvis."

_"You are quite welcome, Captain Rogers."_

He sighs and sits up, pushing the covers aside as he stands. He stretches for a moment before making his way to his bathroom, deciding on a shower before him and the rest of the team head back to the hospital.

**DAYS 4, 5, AND 6:**

The rest of the week passes slowly. Tony remained unconscious, and there had been a time or two when the heart monitor would jump, and everyone would tense, before it quickly fell back to its' normal, steady beeping. Sometimes the genius' face would appear pinched, as if he were struggling or were in pain, but he never woke.

They had fallen into a routine, where they would all stay for the majority of the day, except on the fourth day, where Fury had held a meeting discussing what would become of Loki, who is currently being held prisoner aboard the Helicarrier. Everyone was a bit wary about letting Thor take him back to Asgard, considering the fact that the Trickster had escaped from there last time, so they agreed that for the time being he'd remain on the Helicarrier. He would be guarded 24/7, and no one was to visit unless given clearance by the Director himself.

Once they had that settled, the team immediately went back to their comrade's side. Clint had volunteered to stay with him that night, while the others went home to rest. The next night, it was Thor's turn, and the sixth night was Bruce's.

**DAY 7:**

It was on the seventh night, when it was Steve's turn to keep watch that the billionaire had finally woken up.

It was around two in the morning, and though he knew he should be tired, exhausted, he just wasn't. It was his night, and he needed to be awake, to be alert. He was sitting quietly at Tony's side, getting lost in the beeping of machines in the otherwise silent room. It was dark, save for a small lamp on the bed side table, casting a calm, orangey glow over the room, accompanied by the gentle blue of the arc reactor.

It was in the silence of the night, the still and the calm night, when Tony Stark finally stirred.

At first, it was just the simple twitch of his hand, but it didn't go unnoticed by the super soldier. He glanced at it, almost disbelievingly for a moment, before there was more movement, and his gaze was drawn up to Tony's face instead.

It looked as though he was in pain, his brows furrowed, his head slowly moving back and forth as if he were shaking his head 'no.' His shoulders were tense and his breathing was becoming a bit more labored. The heart monitor sped up the slightest bit, sending a jolt of fear through Steve's body.

"Tony?" He questions, doing his best to keep his voice gentle and smooth, so as not to startle the genius. He hesitantly reaches for his hand, hoping the contact might do something in terms of snapping Tony out of… well, whatever this was. Perhaps a nightmare?

"Hey, Tony?" He questions again, squeezing a little harder on the billionaire's hand.

"Mm?"

The reply is quiet, lazy even, but Steve can't stop himself from grinning like an idiot. He feels the genius return the gentle squeeze of his hand, but it doesn't linger long. Almost as quickly as he had awoken, he had fallen back into unconsciousness, his head falling gently to the side.

_'The soldier holds his breath for a moment as he gazes down at the unconscious genius. It was the first time he had woken up since being hospitalized one week ago. He had been warned that Tony would be in and out of consciousness, but it didn't make it any easier seeing the man so still and quiet._

_He would wake up eventually, and he would stay up.'_

He lingers for a moment longer, just in case, but it seemed Tony had fallen victim to sleep again. With a sigh, he reluctantly stood from his seat by the billionaire's side, making his way for the door. He opens it gently and peeks his head into the hallway, hoping someone would be passing by so he wouldn't have to search for anyone. Luckily, a nurse came strolling down the hall.

"Excuse me, Ma'am?" He manages to say it as politely as possible, even with being so exhausted.

"Yes, Captain Rogers," She gives him a genuine smile as she spins on her heel to face him, "what can I do for you?" She's clad in navy blue hospital scrubs, a stethoscope hung around her neck, and her short brown hair tied in a loose pony tail.

"I was just, uh, well Ton- Mr. Stark woke up a moment ago. Only for a minute before he fell back asleep. The Doctor told me to let someone know if he woke up, that's all." He realized how awkward he must have sounded, and then realized that she was still half smiling at him and that he hadn't smiled back. Frankly, he was just too tired, so hopefully she wouldn't take him as rude.

"Oh, well that's good news. Ah, may I?" She gestures to the door, stepping inside once Steve has opened it further for her, "Did you happen to catch the time he woke? Makes my job easier."

"Ah, yes, it was about 2:13, I think," He scratches the back of his head as he moves to lean against the far wall, giving the nurse her space as she checks over the machines surrounding Tony. She glances at his clipboard a few times, even adding a few notes of her own. She finishes in a matter of minutes, and is gone just as quick as she had come, her only parting words requesting that he let someone know should he wake again.

Once the door is shut, and it's just him, Tony, and the surrounding machines, he shuffles around in his pocket for a moment to grab his phone. He's getting better with it, especially with Tony and Jarvis' help, sometimes even Natasha, and he's learned enough to be able to make calls and send messages.

He opens up his contact list and dials Jarvis, since it's too early in the morning to call any of the others.

Not that they would mind.

The phone rings once, then twice, before the smooth British voice is heard over the phone.

_"Hello, Captain Rogers. Is there something I can do for you?"_

"Hello. Tony woke up a few minutes ago. He fell back asleep pretty quickly, but I thought you may want to know, and possibly relay the message to the others in the morning?" He stalks over to his abandoned chair and plops down, being careful to keep his voice low in case he could wake the sleeping billionaire.

There's a brief pause, and if the AI could sigh, well, Steve is pretty sure he would have just then, _"Thank you for telling me. I assure you the others will receive the good news in the morning, as well."_

Steve allows for a small smile to spread across his lips at Jarvis' tone. He knows that Jarvis is just a computer, but he's positive that he can hear the relief and the fondness in the AI's voice. "You're welcome. I'll keep you updated okay? Don't worry too much; Tony will be home in no time."

_"I'm counting on it. I can only subdue Dummy so much."_ There's no mistaking the exasperation there, he's sure of it.

"I have faith in your capabilities. Best of lu-"

"Who's 'at?"

The voice is quite, barely above a whisper, but it definitely wasn't from the other line, and it definitely wasn't Steve himself. He lifts his head to see Tony, his eyes open, though not by much, and his brows furrowed with genuine curiosity, and perhaps mixed with confusion. His brown hair is ruffled and unkempt, slightly longer than usual, though Steve can't help but prefer it this way. His beard is filling in where it's usually neatly shaved, and his signature goatee is slightly darker than the rest. His eyes are tired, but there's also that common spark of wonder lingering, and there's nothing more reassuring to the super soldier than that. In simplest words, he's a mess, but a beautiful, very alive, very so much _alive_ , mess.

"Oh, thank god. Jarvis? Just- hang on. Hang on." Steve moves his chair closer, sitting on the very edge so as to get as close to the genius as possible, "Hey, Tony- are you? How are you feeling? Do you want some water?"

"J? Lemme talk t' 'im," his voice is gravelly and dry, and he has to take a minute to cough.

Steve smiles and shakes his head, setting the phone by Tony's ear and letting Jarvis speak to him while he pours a glass of water, dropping a straw into the glass. He holds it in front of Tony's mouth and he takes a sip or two, earning Steve a thankful glance and the slightest of smiles.

"I'll be right back, okay? Just- just talk to Jarvis." Steve gives him one last once over before he disappears from the room.

_"I must say, Sir, it is so wonderful to hear your voice."_ Jarvis' voice is soothing in his ear, and it's just enough to keep him from feeling alone in the pristine white hospital room. He shudders and quickly shakes the thought away, because, well, hospitals, and also because his head is pounding in his skull.

"Likewise buddy," He allows himself another quick cough, "Likewise. How are the kids?"


	24. Can we go home now?

"Doctor!" Steve is practically jogging through the hospital corridor, though if Tony could see him he'd probably laugh and call him a mall walker. The doctor from before- Doctor Andrews, was it?- spins on his heel upon hearing his name, "Tony- ah, Mr. Stark is awake… again."

With a nod, the Doctor makes his way over to the soldier. They hastily walk back to the room, where Steve can only assume the genius is still catching up with his AI.

"How long has he been awake?" Doctor Andrews questions once they're a door or two away, pulling his clipboard out from beneath his arm and a pen from his breast pocket.

"He woke up about 20 minutes ago, but it was only for a few seconds. I told a nurse, and he woke up again after she left. If he's still conscious, then it's been about 10 minutes." He figures that's probably pretty accurate, as he wasn't exactly paying too much mind to the time. He was just glad to see his friend finally awake.

They reach the door, the Doctor entering first with Steve only a step or two behind.

"No, _no_! Just, tell Dummy I'll be home soon. Do _not_ let that pile of junk guilt trip you into letting him leave the lab!" A very distraught, yet slightly amused, genius is pinching the bridge of his nose with his eyes clenched shut in an obvious display of frustration, though the smallest of smiles has spread across his lips.

"Um, To-" Steve starts but is cut off before he can finish, the brunette still seemingly unaware of their presence.

"Dummy, I swear-" He pauses to cough, wincing at a slightly painful tug in his left side, "-I will dismantle you and turn you into a coat rack, listen to Jarvis!" The billionaire groans in exasperation, his good arm now resting over his forehead.

Steve sighs, shooting the Doctor an apologetic look, "Tony."

"No one uses coat racks anymore! I swear you'll be even more useless than you are now!"

"Tony!"

The mechanic pulls his arm from over his eyes upon (finally) hearing Steve's voice. "Uh, Jarvis? I'll call you back." He hangs up the phone and tosses it onto the bed next to him, "Um, hello there."

"Mr. Stark," Doctor Andrews greets with a slight nod, "How are you feeling? You've managed to bang yourself up quite a bit, in case you haven't noticed."

As it turns out, Tony hadn't noticed much, save the pain in his side. He hadn't taken the time to observe his injuries, since Steve had distracted him with Jarvis, that sneaky bastard. He looks down at himself, the first thing that catches his eyes being that he'd been turned into an art project. He studies his casts on his right arm and leg, rolling his eyes upon seeing the expanse of dicks covering a majority of each; undoubtedly Barton's work. He notices the equations written in green next, then the lightning bolts and the spider. He turns his head to get a better look at his arm, finally noticing the fairly detailed drawings of his helmet and arc reactor, along with the Captain's shield.

"I uh," He shifts uncomfortably, but immediately regrets his actions at the pain in his ribs. He winces, but otherwise ignores it, "I'm fine, I just… who the hell let Bird Brain cover my _entire thigh_ in dicks? Seriously, who gave him a sharpie? And why?"

"Mr. Stark, I don't think that this is really the main concern right now…" The Doctor takes a step forward, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"No, I mean, I get what you're saying, but Barton? With a sharpie? I mean _look_ at me! I look like I belong in the Museum of Modern Art!"

Steve signs and moves to the billionaire's right side, "Tony, can we get back to the problem at hand? Please?"

The mechanic considers him for a moment, almost ready to insist that nothing is wrong, but that probably wouldn't slide. He sighs before giving a reluctant, "Fine."

"Wonderful," Andrews claps his hands together, as if Tony were a dog and it were the only way to get his attention. "First, are you in pain? Any at all?" The Doctor inquires, subtly casting a thankful look in the Super soldier's direction.

"Ah, you know, actually I feel great. Never better," He shifts a little in the bed, attempting to sit up, "I think I'm all set to go home. So why don't you just- ah- _fuck!"_ Tony brings his left hand over his ribs, trying his best to mask the pain evident on his face. Apparently it doesn't work, because he only gets a concerned puppy faced Steve Rogers practically burning holes through his skull with his gaze alone.

"Right… so, there's pain along the expanse of your torso, which is understandable," The Doctor continues, not at all convinced, "You broke three ribs along your left side, and you have stitching from a laceration."

Tony's eyes widen and he immediately moves his hand to his side, but the Doctor catches his wrist with almost lightning speed.

"Please, do _not_ touch. There was internal bleeding; we needed to fix the issue surgically."

"But-"

"No 'buts,'" Andrews snaps back, and rolls his eyes when that earns him a snicker from the billionaire, "What's so funny?"

Tony plasters on his shitting-eating grin, "You said 'butts.'"

Steve face palms.

"It's alright, Captain Rogers," The Doctor sighs as he assures the embarrassed Captain America, looking and sounding about ten times as tired as he did when he first entered the room, "His chart says he's on a bit of morphine, though I'm not entirely convinced the medication is completely to blame."

"Can I go home now?" Tony whines as he leans back again, a slight hiss of pain slipping past his now clenched teeth.

"I'd like to keep you at least one more night, Mr. Stark."

"But I wanna go home _now_." He grumbles, and no, he is definitely not pouting. Tony Stark does not pout.

"How about tomorrow morning?" Upon seeing the billionaire's still (definitely not) pouting face, he reasons, "It's really not that bad."

"He'll stay as long as he needs to," Steve answers for the brunette, before he has the chance to argue further.

"Let's hope it's not too much longer," Andrews mumbles, not exactly doing much to hide his annoyance in his difficult patient.

"Let's hope," Steve stands to shake the Doctor's hand, muttering a quick, "Thank you," and an "I'm sorry." He watches as Doctor Andrews makes his way out the door, closing it behind him with a gentle click. His eyes are only drawn back to the drugged up genius when said man emits a slight laugh, though Steve would probably classify it as a giggle.

"What?" He turns around, only to see Tony wearing a smug grin accompanied by a slightly unfocused gaze.

"Looks like I got the hot nurse," He sizes Steve up and down, trying and failing to stifle his snickering, and instead only laughing harder when he notices the blush spreading across the soldier's face.

"Just get some rest," Steve grumbles, throwing himself into his abandoned chair by the billionaire's bedside.

"Aye Aye, Captain," Tony mock solutes, but doesn't put a fight with the blonde. Instead he shifts a little in his bed, doing his best to get as comfortable as he can and closes his eyes.

Thank god for small mercies.

When Tony awakes the next morning, he needs to take a minute to remember just where he is. He doesn't recall being awake for too long, but he's pretty sure the Doctor had visited him, and he vaguely remembers making a certain super soldier turn beet red. He gives himself a mental pat on the back for that one; even high on the good drugs he's still got it. When he opens his eyes, his gaze settles first on the blank ceiling. He has to blink a few times to whisk the sleep from his eyes, but once he does he instantly decides the ceiling is boring, and starts to look around.

A it turns out, the rest of the room is just as bland as the ceiling; white walls, white bed, white door, hell, even white machines. The only things that seems to possess color is the blonde sleeping beauty next to his bed, slumped in a chair with his head propped up on his right hand. He grumbles in annoyance when he remembers the state of his own right hand, and decides that there is no way his casts' are staying on for long. Nope; not a chance.

He turns his head in the other direction, and finds himself squinting his eyes a bit from the rays of sunlight seeping through the window in between the blinds. He also concludes that he isn't really a fan of the sun either, so he turns his head away in favor of repositioning himself in his cheap, squeaky bed.

This, however, turns out to be his first mistake, because _mother fucker_ that _hurts._

He grunts in pain, unable to keep his obvious discomfort from disrupting the quiet that he'd woken up to in the room. Upon hearing his struggling, Steve (damn that super enhanced hearing) snaps his eyes open, barely even taking a minute to fully wake up before he's at Tony's side.

"Tony? What's wrong?" His voice is practically dripping with concern, and it only proves the genius' hypothesis that _'this man could not get any more perfect. How could he?'_

"I'm fine. Jesus, Rogers, stop being such a mother hen." He waves his good hand dismissively.

Steve rolls his eyes, but apparently he isn't satisfied with that answer, "What hurts?"

"It's just my side; it's fine."

"Uh huh…" The soldier still doesn't look convinced, but he can worry about it later, "The team will be here soon. You're all set to go and we can leave once they get here."

"Oh thank _Thor,"_ the brunette sighs in pure relief, though the tension doesn't quite leave his shoulders, "I fucking hate this place, god damn hospitals…"

Steve raises an eyebrow at him, allowing a small smirk to tug at his lips, "Did you just say 'Thank _Thor_ '?"

Tony snickers and shakes his head, "Get it? Because Thor's like a god."

"Yes, Tony, I get it."

Thankfully the moment of awkward silence didn't have to last too long, for it was interrupted when Barton came barging into the room.

"Well if it isn't my favorite Man in a Can! Did you get my present?"

Tony chuckles a little despite himself and holds up his right arm, "Oh, yes. Thank you. Are you here to pick me up so you can sell me to a museum now?"

"The idea was tossed around, not gonna lie. But Miss sucks-the-fun-out-of-everything over here," the archer shoots a glare at Natasha, "said no."

"What a shame. I bet I'm worth a fortune." He shakes his head as if he were disappointed.

"You would know, wouldn't you?"

"FRIEND ANTHONY!" Their favorite God of Thunder storms into the room, his arms spread nearly as wide as his smile, "It is good to see you well!" He stalks up to the left side of the billionaire's bed, clapping him on the shoulder. Tony winces slightly, but grins back at the god anyway.

"Thor, we talked about this," Bruce wanders in next, followed by Natasha, "Gentle."

"My apologies, Banner. I forgot your request in my moments of joy!" Thor exclaims, his voice taking on a slightly gentler tone.

"Brucie Bear!"

The physicist shakes his head at the ridiculous nickname but finds himself grinning nonetheless, "Hi, Tony. How-"

"Uh yeah, before we get into the 'how are you feeling' bullshit, did Dummy, um, you know, happen to escape the lab last night?" When the team gave him strange looks, he simply gave an approving nod, "Nevermind. Jarvis probably handled it."

"Right; back on topic. How are you?" Natasha steps further into the room, making her way to his bedside to stand beside Thor.

"I'm peachy. Can we go home now?" His voice may have sounded a little more pleading than he had intended, but if she noticed she didn't mention it. He just wants to get out of there; just thinking about hospitals sends a shiver up his spine, let alone being in one.

"Of course, Shellhead." She smirks, nudging his shoulder much lighter than the God had done before.

"Oh, I see 'Shellhead' has made its' reappearance. That's nice. That's just great; why do I even hang around you people with your horrible taste in nicknames? That's my job, last time I checked."

"You took a couple personal days; we had to get creative with your 'job.'"

"You're just saying that because you think you still don't have a nickname," He jabs a finger in her direction, "Which you totally do, by the way. I just never use it because you'll probably kill me in my sleep."

"Depends on how bad it is. I might let you be awake if it's as bad as you're making it out to be." She responds with a raised eyebrow, her expression threatening but her eyes soft.

He simply grins up at her, waggling his eyebrows, "Whatever you say… _Natashalie."_

"Awake it is, then."

He gulps down a witty comment, hastily turning to one of his team mates, any of his team mates, and settles on Steve, mouthing "Can we go home now?"


	25. The Sharks will Come

The team was piled into one of Tony's larger cars, with Steve at the wheel and Tony in the passenger seat. Natasha and Bruce sat in the middle row while Clint and Thor remained in back. The drive back to the tower was slow and surprisingly quiet. Tony seemed to be either too tired to speak or didn't know what to say. To be honest, he wasn't entirely sure himself.

One thing he knew for sure, though, was that he was not looking forward to one of their inevitable team 'talks.' Steve's ' _lectures_ ' never bode well for him. It was always ' _Why did you do that? What's wrong with you?!'_ or _'Are you out of your god damn mind?! I thought you were supposed to be a genius!'_ Oh, and let's not forget ' _You could have gotten yourself killed!'_

The thing is; he already knows that. He runs the calculations. He knows the math. He knows because he does it in that split second before the others can protest. It's not about him, and though he would do anything to protect his team, it's not even completely about them. It's about everyone; past, present, and future. So yes, he told Barton to take the shot, but it's one life versus every citizen unfortunate enough to get caught in the line of a repulsor blast. It's every man, woman, or child who has to die for his mistakes. Why save one man, when you can save hundreds? Why save one man, who has been the indirect cause of death more times than he's saved a life? He's done that math, too, and his math is always right. So he knows what they're going to say, because it's the same thing every time, but he does it anyways.

Before he knows it, they're pulling into the lower garage of the tower. He realizes he's been staring thoughtfully out the window for the duration of the car ride, and mentally curses himself for looking like an emotional teen.

When Steve parks the car, he all but sighs in relief; hastily reaching with his good arm to open the car door. Suddenly he's faced with a new problem.

He looks down at his right leg with a scowl, though the expanse of dicks permanently stained on the thigh of his cast do not move. They stay, despite Tony's disapproving glare. He looks around at the rest of the team, who had already managed to pile out of the vehicle. When Thor notices his predicament, he rushes over to help, but is stopped by Tony's hand sprawled over his chest.

"Nope; I think I've lost enough of my dignity for one week. I can walk on my own," He states with his head lifted proudly, a determined look taking over his features.

Bruce sighs and snakes a hand through his hair, "Tony, you have a broken leg, you can't just-"

"Ah!" Tony points a finger at his disapproving friend, effectively cutting off his scolding, "No. There are no _can't's._ I am a scientist. _We_ are scientists. There are no _can't's_ in science, Dr. Banner."

Bruce just rolls his eyes, grabbing the hospital provided crutches out of the back seat of the car, "There are a few, Tony. Now if you must walk on your own, then you can _at least_ use these. _Please."_

Tony eyes the silver crutches in Bruce's grasp, "Um, when did you get those? You actually expect me to hobble around like a damsel in distress? I mean come on, please. I can walk, I'm fine." He waves his hand dismissively, stepping out of the car first with his left leg, which is followed shortly by his casted right leg. He's noticeably unsteady on his feet, but he braces himself against the open car door for support as he regains his balance, "See? No big dea-" He stumbles forward, though before he can hit the ground, he instead ends up with a face full of Thor's chest, "Okay, _ow._ Jesus Thor you're like an actual rock."

Thor simply gives the billionaire a broad smile as he helps the man stand up right, "Are you alright, Man of Iron?"

"Yes, Thor. I am perfectly fine. I did not sustain any major injuries from colliding face first into your cement chest. Can we please go inside now?" He reaches a reluctant hand out to Bruce, who lets out an exasperated sigh before handing over the crutches.

"Come on, Tony," Steve says, who had been quietly watching the situation play itself out from his place leaning against the hood of the car. Tony had to take a minute to gather his thoughts, because _damn_. Who knew Captain America looked so good next to cars? _And why the hell is he even thinking this? Cars make almost everyone look great. Almost._

"Um, yeah, fine." He gives the offending crutches one last death glare before placing one under each arm. Moving away from the car and towards the garage elevator, he does his best to look as completely unaffected by the situation as possible. He's pretty sure he's managing that okay, because Steve, Thor, Bruce, and Clint don't seem to notice how idiotic he feels. Natasha on the other hand, well, that's a different story. With Natasha, no matter how well Tony has perfected each individual mask of his, that woman has one that's just _that_ much better than his. Because of this, he's like 98% positive that she can see right through his well crafted façade just about any time, which is quite unfortunate for him.

When he steps, or rather, hobbles, into the elevator, he's greeted by his favorite person in the world; mainly because he isn't technically a person at all.

_"Welcome home, Sir. It is good to see you well."_

The genius allows the slightest slip of a smile, though he conceals it by bowing his head as the rest of the team piles into the lift after him, and responds with an affectionate, "Thanks, J."

The elevator goes up on its' own accord, or rather, Jarvis'. He seems to know exactly where to go most of the time without Tony ever having to say a word. Normally he'd have made a break for his workshop by now, but he's not entirely sure that would work out in his favor, considering he probably wouldn't get very far and even if he did, he'd be dragged back to the common floor or his own bedroom by a very annoyed Avenger.

So common floor it is.

The elevator doors open and Tony hastily (as fast as one can with crutches) makes his way into the living room. He immediately wanders over to the couch and plops himself down, grabbing the blanket draped over the back and his tablet that had been conveniently left on the side table. He's vaguely aware that the others had followed him to the couches, because the other side of where he's lounging dips slightly under someone's weight, though he doesn't look up from his tablet.

"Tony."

He can practically feel the eyes on him, and he knows this isn't going to be fun but he also knows there's no getting out of it. He decides to enjoy his last moments of freedom while he can because, well, there's no way anyone is letting him out of their sight for a long time. Not because they care. No, because no one really _cares_ about Tony Stark, but because he's their tech guy, their weapons guys. He's their wallet, and he owns their roof. So they'll stick around him because, for now, he's useful. But he knows it won't last. It never does.

"Tony," The chastising voice tries again, and _damn could he please just have a moment to himself?_

He stares down blankly at his tablet for another moment before finally, reluctantly, turning it off. He forces himself to turn it face down in his lap, and crosses his arms over his chest as he looks up with the fakest smile he can muster, "Go ahead."

As it turns out, Steve is the one who had chosen to accompany him on his couch, but of course he did because Captain America is the team leader, and it's his job to care, or in Tony's case, pretend to care. Natasha, Bruce, and Clint had taken the other couch while Thor had claimed the recliner.

Steve raises his eyebrow in question, as if he seriously doesn't know what Tony is talking about, "Excuse me?"

Tony just rolls his eyes. He's too busy for this; he's already missed out on like a week's worth of work, and not to mention the major suit repairs that need to be done. "Go ahead," He repeats, his tone slightly annoyed by this point, "Yell at me; tell me I need to be more careful. Tell me what I did was stupid and I could have died. Seriously, it's practically a routine. I can do it for you if you'd like?"

"No," Steve interrupts, "No, Tony that's not-"

The billionaire just continues anyway, using his best imitation of Steve's 'Captain America voice,' " _Tony, what you did was reckless and stupid. I should suspend you from the team for what you did_." He points a stern finger before taking a breath, and then somehow manages to imitate himself, "But Ice Pop, that's just what I do! It doesn't matter, everyone's alive!" He switches back to 'Captain America,' " _But Tony, that's not the point! We care about your well being!"_ Again, he switches to himself, "My well being? Why, I'm touched but we both know that's a load of shit-"

"Tony! Will you please, just shut up and _listen!"_ Steve practically growls at him, and the billionaire immediately stops talking. "First off, I'm not mad at you, and I'm not suspending you from the team. It wasn't your fault," He takes a breath, eyeing the billionaire and forcing him to meet his gaze, "Second, we _do_ care about you. We care about _Tony Stark_ , not just Iron Man."

Tony actually doesn't know what to say, half because he expects Steve to just start laughing any minute and say "Just kidding!" and half because Steve also sounds like he means it, but of course that's impossible. Before he can say anything, though, Steve continues.

"You saved a lot of people before Loki took control of the suit. Those men from the conference room, when they woke up they asked the medics to thank you for saving their lives."

"I didn't- I…" The billionaire struggles to find his words, "There was one more. I didn't save them all. Loki got to me before I could save the last man."

"Naye!" Thor booms from his place on the recliner, "This man you speak of, I brought him to safety once my brother had been dealt with. He is well."

"Oh," Tony scratches the back of his neck with his good arm, "uh, thanks, Thor." He awkwardly clears his throat, throwing quick glances at his team mates, "Great. So I take it we're done here?"

"Done? We're not done-"

"Jarvis, baby, TV, if you please," Tony ignores the looks he's getting from his team, specifically Steve because he just cannot handle his star spangled scowl of disapproval at the moment. It's too similar to Howard's, which is probably where dear old dad picked it up, now that he thinks about it. Small world.

_"Sir, I'm not sure that's the best-"_

_"Jarvis._ TV, if you please." His tone has gone a bit stricter, and he almost feels bad because even though Jarvis doesn't technically have feelings, it always seemed like he does. He can't help it right now though. He's been in the hospital for a week, he can't tinker around in his workshop because of his stupid broken arm, and the team just won't leave him be for now.

Jarvis seems to hesitate for a moment, but seeing as he has no choice the TV flicks on. The screen shows the local news station, a dark haired woman standing in front the Stark Industries building and holding a microphone as she speaks.

_"We have just gotten news that Mr. Stark, also known as Iron Man, was just released from the hospital earlier this morning. It is unclear what the situation is over at Avengers tower, but there is much debate about Mr. Stark's ability to protect the citizens like he has sworn to do. Many believe that these recent events were not an accident, and that this attack was set up by Tony Stark himself. Thankfully no one was critically injured, save a small handful of business men that have been hospitalized. However, the question remains; was this purely an accident? Or did Tony Stark purposefully attack his company and his team? Iron Man; Hero or villain?_

Tony is staring at the screen, his body tense and his eyes fixed on the reporter. He swallows hard, trying to will away the labored breaths that have begun threatening his lungs. His ears start to ring until he can no longer hear her voice, or anyone's for that matter, and his vision goes a little blurry. ' _Not here, not in front of the team,'_ he pleads with himself, though he knows it's a losing battle. He thought he was finally getting better; there had been a lot less nightmares lately, until Loki returned. He tried to reason to himself that he was not, in fact, panicking, and that it was just the fault of his minor concussion, but deep down he knew it was a lie. He brought a hand up protectively over the arc reactor, tapping a nervous rhythm in hopes of calming his nerves, but it was no use. He was too far gone.

_'You better stop pretending to be a hero.'_

Natasha seems to notice the quickening rise and fall of the billionaire's chest first, because she responds in an instant before the reporter can continue talking, "Jarvis, turn it _off."_

The TV flicks off, and Tony would be lying if he said he wasn't at least a little bit thankful, but that doesn't change anything. He knew there was something off about that fight with Loki; he could have _easily_ killed Tony and the other Avengers with control of the suit. He wasn't using the opportunity to its full potential. How could he not have seen this coming? The words of Ivan Vanko from the Monaco incident flash through his memory, sending a shiver up his spine.

_'If you can make God bleed, the people will cease to believe in him. And there will be blood in the water, and the sharks will come.'_


	26. Poker

_Iron Man; Hero or villain?_

His ears are ringing, the words bouncing off the walls of his mind.

_'You better stop pretending to be a hero.'_

He knows he's not a hero; not like Steve. He'll never be a hero like Steve, because Steve is Captain America, and Captain America is perfect. He's everything that's good in the world, right? He's not like Steve, and he's not like Thor, or Bruce. He's not like Clint, and he's not like Natasha. He knows this; so why won't the noise just _stop?_

"Tony, come on. Идиот, it's not your fault," Natasha tries her best to reassure the genius, kneeling in front of him and squeezing his hand. His eyes are far away, as if he's trapped in a bad memory. Natasha is all too familiar with that look; she's seen it before, and has experienced it herself. "Hey," she tries again, her voice gentle and soothing as she cards her hand through his brown curls, "Tony, it's just the media. You know how they get better than any of us. We'll hold a press conference; no one thinks you're a villain."

Her words cut through the noise like knives, silencing his inner conflict. Tony can hear what she's saying, but he's not sure he believes it. Loki got the better of him because _he wasn't ready_ , _damn it_ , and because of it he almost killed his team _and_ innocent civilians. Her touch is gentle, though, and something she says must get through to him because he can feel the tension starting to ease out of his shoulders, not completely, but just enough.

Natasha seems to notice that what she's saying is working, too, so she continues, "You _are_ a hero, Tony. You need to realize that. Everyone else knows it; _we_ know it. Okay?" She spares Steve a quick glance, as if trying to tell him that this isn't his fault, because she knows that's what he's thinking, before returning her attention to the billionaire.

Tony gives a slight nod, his mind finally agreeing to return to his body. He clears his throat, subtly returning the reassuring squeeze of her hand with his own; just to let her know that he's okay.

The room is silent for another moment, until Steve feels the need to voice his own assurances, "We'll clear this mess up. We'll get through it, just like we always do. For now, you should just get some rest." When he receives an exasperated look from the genius, he quickly adds with a grin, "And that includes no workshop."

Tony rolls his eyes and slumps further into the couch, Natasha having slid beside him, "But _mommm_ -"

"Jarvis?" Natasha interrupts the billionaire's complaining, "Lock down the workshop. No one gets in there unless there's an emergency." She flashes Tony a stern look, her eyes never leaving his while addressing the AI.

_"Of course, Agent Romanoff."_

"Hey!" Tony whines, throwing Jarvis' camera a dirty look, "You're supposed to be on my side! _I gave you life."_

_"My apologies, Sir, but your team is correct. You should refrain from any strenuous activity until you have properly healed."_

Tony, obviously defeated, grumbles under his breath, "Traitor. I swear I'll dismantle your motherboard."

_"I tremble in fear, Sir,"_ was the smug reply, earning a snort of laughter from the archer in the room.

Natasha allows a satisfied smile, before gently jabbing the billionaire in the shoulder with her finger, purposefully avoiding contact with the arc reactor, "Rest."

"But all I've done is rest! I'm bored. Let's watch a movie. Or play a game." A light bulb seems to go off in the genius' mind because he sits up quickly, ignoring the pain that shoots through his side, his eyes twinkling with delight, " _Yes,_ a game. Poker; I want to play poker."

"Really? You want to play _poker?_ " Clint smirks from his position perched on the back of the other couch.

Tony sighs, shaking his head, "Agh, you're right. Strip poker is so much better-"

"No." Natasha shoots him a deadly look, one that could probably kill should she choose.

"Or regular poker. Regular poker is fine," He hastily corrects himself, being sure to add a nonchalant shrug as if he weren't internally trembling in fear of the fierce woman beside him.

"What is this game you speak of?" Thor booms, rising from his spot on the couch next to Clint.

"It's a card game," Bruce supplies, much to the gods confusion.

"I'll teach you, Hammer Time. Texas holdem, everyone?" He glances at the rest of the Avengers, receiving a round of nods.

"I've never played Texas Holdem, but I've played normal poker," Steve casts an unsure look at the billionaire, who dismissively flicks his wrist.

"No biggie. Gotta teach Thor anyway," he offers a small smile to the soldier, partly because he's just nice like that and partly because Steve somehow manages to make his confused face look slightly adorable.

_Oh, he's so screwed._

The next thing they know, they're all gathered around Tony's very expensive poker table. He has mounds of poker chips stacked and evenly distributed amongst the 6 Avengers, all sitting around the table patiently.

He grabs the stack of cards from the center and expertly shuffles them; even with the restricting cast the cards flick easily between his fingers and intertwine with one another. He does this a few times before passing out 2 cards to each player.

"Alright, first off, each player gets 2 cards. Got it?" He glances at the soldier and the god, "Good. We'll do a practice round. Don't reveal your cards." He holds up his own cards to his chest, blocking out some of the light from the arc reactor, "We start with a round of betting. You can check, bet, or fold."

To Thor's nod of understanding he continues, "If you don't like your hand, which I will explain how you know if you should like it later, you can fold. It basically means you'll be taking no further part in the hand. Just done. If you do like your hand, you can call or raise. If you call, you'll be matching the amount already bet. If you raise, you're basically raising the stakes, and if the other player wants to continue in the hand he needs match your raise."

"I believe I can grasp this concept of raising quite well!" Thor exclaims, slamming his fist down on the table for good measure.

"Wonderful." Tony deadpans, shifting a little in his seat and concealing a wince of pain before he continues, "After the first round of betting, three cards are dealt face up in the center of the table, called the flop, if you're interested in terminology. There's another round of betting, and then a fourth card is added, called the turn. There's another round of betting, and a final fifth card is added to the middle, called the river. You bet again. Your goal is to create the best possible 5-card-hand using your own cards and the shared cards in the center."

Thor grins, the concept seeming to process with him, "Aye, I will defeat you all, for I shall have the best of these hands!"

"Slow down, Point Break. A few more things. Now, you may actually have a decent hand, and you can bet based on the belief that your hand is better than your opponents, but you can also bluff. You could have absolute shit cards, like _complete bullshit_ , but if you can get everyone else to fold, you'll still win the hand. That's why you need to work on your poker face, because no offence buddy, but if you're grinning like an idiot because you know you're bluffing, you're gonna lose. Gotta sell it, big guy. You too, Rogers," He smirks, pointing a stern finger at the soldier, "Gonna lose if you blush, Spangles."

As if on cue, Steve's face turns nearly beat red, causing a round of laughter from the Avengers. Steve has no idea how Tony does it, but the man seems to know him almost too well.

"Anyway," the genius grins as he mentally pats himself on the back, doing his best to not examine Steve's bashful blushing too closely, "Hand rankings, and this is important so listen up," he holds up his good hand and begins counting on his fingers, "The order from best to worst is royal flush, straight flush, four of a kind, full house, flush, straight, three of a kind, two pairs, pair, and high card."

The team, save Natasha and Bruce, and stare at him as if he's talking jibberish, "You're not going to memorize them all right away, so don't worry about it. Jarvis?" He sighs and flicks his good wrist.

A holographic list of the poker hand rankings appears on the nearest wall, accompanied by the rules that apply to each hand.

"You can just refer to the list. No big deal," He says with a shrug, ignoring the way the movement tugs uncomfortably at the stitches in his side.

"Not bad, for an engineer," Natasha teases from beside him, "Did you write that down somewhere, or just one too many trips to Caesar's Palace?"

He makes a face at her, though there's no heat behind it. She knows exactly which nerves to pick, and she has a great poker face, but so does Tony, which is exactly why he wanted to play with her. He's always up for a good challenge.

Plus, how many people can say they've experienced the fun side of the famous _Black Widow?_

"Don't act all smug, Romanoff. I'm on to you." He turns back to face the others, "Everyone ready?"

They've been playing for about 30 minutes. Natasha and Tony are in the lead (no surprise there), with Bruce in second and Steve, surprisingly, in third. Thor is a close fourth and Clint is in last.

Which, of course, means there is a lot of complaining and accusations being thrown around.

"Oh, come _on_!" Clint groans as Tony wins yet another round, putting him in the lead as he pulls his earnings towards him, "There's no way! You're so cheating, probably counting cards!"

Tony just shakes his head as he neatly stacks up his chips, "No need to get so salty, Barton. It's just a game." He purposefully keeps his voice as calm as he can, keeping out any defensiveness from his tone, just to ruffle Clint's feathers. The man's not entirely wrong, though he's not entirely right either. The truth is, he _probably is_ counting cards, but he can't exactly help it. That's what he does; he runs the numbers for just about everything. Why would it be any different with poker? He can't just ignore the steady stream of calculations and probabilities fluttering past his eyelids.

"You should be disqualified. All in favor, say I!" Clint raises his hand with determination, casting glances to his team mates to see just who's on board.

No one raises their hand.

"Sorry Bird Brain," Tony states with a smug grin and a shrug, and again, _ow_ , "Can't just vote the guy who pays for your living arrangements off the island. This isn't Survivor."

Steve furrows his brow, "What's-"

"It's a reality show," Bruce supplies, "We can watch it sometime, if you really want to."

"That's it; I quit. You're full of shit, Stark!" Clint grumbles, though the playful glint in his eye is obvious to the billionaire. The archer slams his cards down on the table with a sense of finality, "I fold; FOR GOOD."

"Like you were ever in the game in the first place," Natasha comments with an amused smirk.

"I was _so_ in the game!" Barton retorts, pointing a finger at the red head.

"You have like, 6 chips left, Katniss," Tony points out while proudly hovering over his mound of earnings and tossing back what was left of the scotch he'd acquired not ten minutes ago. Banner had tried to talk him out of it, saying that scotch didn't mix with medication ( _as if he doesn't know that_ ), but despite the rest of the team's protests, he got his drink anyway, having promised to only have one. Besides, he salutes whoever decided that alcohol was the best medicine.

The billionaire allows himself a smug grin for having silenced the angry bird, the others trying to stifle their laughs. He glances around the table, raising his eyebrows at Thor who has the third most chips in front of him, just behind Natasha.

"Not bad, Point Break; I'm impressed. You catch on quick."

Thor grinned larger than he ever has, though it could also have something to do with the Asgardian alcohol he'd pulled out of nowhere when he'd seen Tony's drink. "Indeed! Though I must say, your Poker skills are far beyond the level mine will ever be, Man of Iron."

"Seriously," Steve agrees, also turning to smirk at the genius, "How can you play so well?"

Before Tony can respond, Natasha cuts in for him, "Steve, as much as I hate to feed the 'Tony Stark Ego,' Fury wasn't exaggerating when he said Shellhead over here was a genius." She turns to face Tony, who was currently basking in the complement as if it were a ray of sun. "You're probably doing the math without even realizing it, am I correct?"

He shrugs, "You're right. I can't exactly turn it off, _Natashalie."_

When she shoots him a deathly glare, one that promises he'll pay for that, Steve decides to cut in, raising an eyebrow at said genius, "Sounds exhausting."

Tony suddenly wears a very mischievous smirk, "Nah, it's not so bad, Spangles. It can't be anymore exhausting than that inner struggle you have every time you're trying to keep from blushing."

Again, Steve turns as red as the Iron Man armor, leaving the rest of the team in a fit of laughter. He hangs his head in embarrassment, but is sporting a smile nonetheless, and _god_ if bashful Steve isn't just the most ador- _god he needs to stop doing that._

So instead of risking revealing what he's _actually_ thinking, he just keeps on smiling and laughing, even if the action is just _killing_ his still healing ribs.

"Oh man," Clint breathes between laughter, nearly doubling over glee, "twice in one hour."

"Thanks for that, Stark, really, I appreciate it," the soldier states with an exasperated sigh as he stands from the table, though he can't help but grin. "You should rest now," he advises, gently clapping the billionaire on the shoulder, "and remind me to never play poker with you again."

"Awe, don't be such a Debbie Downer, Sour Patch," Tony declares as he stands somewhat shakily from his chair, having almost forgotten about his broken leg entirely.

Steve is quick to steady him, one hand at his waist and the other on the small of his back. He can feel Tony go a bit stiff under his touch, but quickly he snaps out of it in favor of reaching for his crutches. When Steve is sure he isn't going to topple over, he clears his throat a bit awkwardly before giving the engineer some room.

"Ah, thanks, Spangles," Tony nods, though he's a bit unsure of what to do. What are you supposed to say when Captain America just grabbed you by the waist? Granted, it was to stop him from falling on his ass, but still. He glances at the rest of the team, purposefully ignoring Natasha's all knowing smirk.

_Damn that woman._

Steve isn't quite sure what to do with himself as he waits for Tony, who is now fumbling with his crutches and cursing them under his breath. He actually finds it kind of endearing, but he'd never admit it out loud.

"Come on, I'll make sure you don't collapse before you even make it to your room," he says once Tony is situated and making his way towards the lift. He follows close by, but not enough to make it seem like he's hovering or… _mother-henning?_ Is that what Tony had said to him at the hospital?

"Yeah, whatever, Ice Pop," Tony grumbles with a hint of amusement in his tone. Hey, if it makes the man feel better to see him make it to bed, then fine.

Once they've said their goodnights to the team and have finally made it to the elevator, Tony finds himself heavily relying on the support of the elevator walls. He's a lot more drained than he had originally thought, though he supposes that pretending you're not in an immense amount of pain the whole night does that to a person. When Steve raises a questionable eyebrow at him, he flashes him the fakest smile he can muster.

Steve isn't buying it.

"You know, if you're in pain, all you have to do is say something."

Tony drops the smile, not wanting to waste the energy if Steve can see right through it anyway. He sighs, throwing his head back against the cool metal of the wall, listening to the barely audible hum of the elevator's machinery as he bites back a wince.

Steve is about to say more, but the doors ping open, and it's obvious to him that Tony is too tired to argue right now. He decides to cut him some slack; for now.

"Come on," he helps the billionaire out of the elevator, mentally thanking Jarvis for holding the doors open.

They make their way towards Tony's room, Steve holding the door open for him, like the gentleman he is, though Tony thinks it's more because opening doors would be quite difficult for him, what with the crutches and all. He flashes the soldier a thankful look as he hobbles inside, though instead of leaving like Tony thought he would, Steve follows.

"Uh," Tony fumbles for the right words, trying not to offend the Captain, "Cap, as much as any man would love to have you in their bed, I'm afraid I'm a bit _incapable_ at the moment." He mentally facepalms, cursing his lack of interpersonal skills and brain to mouth filter.

Steve can feel the heat rising up his neck and over his cheeks, but thankfully Tony doesn't mention it. "Very funny, but something tells me you may want to shower, and if I'm recalling correctly, the last time you came home from the hospital you needed helping changing."

It takes all of Tony's willpower not to blush like Steve currently is, and thankfully he's much better at keeping it at bay. "Well, uh, I guess I probably should shower but um," he clears his throat, trying to avoid any and all eye contact, "I think I can manage, mostly."

"Right, well, I'll just… wait out here. In case you need something, I guess?"

"Yeah," Tony is so done with this conversation. He can feel the level of uncomfortable Steve is currently feeling, so he takes pity and starts for the bathroom. "I'll just… yeah," and he disappears into the room.

Steve lets out a sigh of relief, making his way over to the desk in Tony's room. He sits in the chair and waits patiently, listening to the sounds of running water and the mad ramblings of the genius beyond the door. ' _Probably talking to Jarvis,'_ he thinks.

He takes the opportunity to study the room. It hasn't been too long since he's last been here, he knows that. It looks almost exactly the same; three grey walls, one red wall by the bed, huge windows. It's a nice room, but it looks as if no one lives in it. The only signs that _maybe_ Tony Stark calls this his are the little projects strewn across the desk. Steve doesn't really know what they are, so he figures it best not to touch them, and opts for staring out the window instead.

The water is warm. It soothes the aches and pains over the expanse of his body just slightly, but at this point he'll take anything. He verbally curses the bags he has to use to cover his casts, knowing he probably looks like a fucking idiot, but whatever. The water is warm, he's tired, and he finally has a minute to just _think._

He stays there for a minute, just letting the water run down his back and soak his hair, though he's careful to keep it away from his face. He still hates that, even if this water isn't rusty and cold. Eventually though, he decides it's probably just a little rude to keep Steve waiting. Tony isn't the only one who's had a long day, and he knows the others have had a long week. He just can't wait for it to be over, but he knows they've still got a bit to go before that happens. He still needs to debrief with Fury, and they need to figure out what to do with Loki, too.

Sighing, he reaches with his left hand for his shampoo, doing his best not to get frustrated when he struggles to pop the cap open. He takes solace in the familiar smell; it's masculine, but not too strong, and it smells clean. He washes his hair with his one good hand, before moving on to conditioner and eventually body wash. Cleaning himself actually hurts like a bitch, and it's a bit infuriating having to keep as much water from reaching his stitches as possible. Bruce said they could get a little bit wet, but that he shouldn't soak them.

Again, _he knows that_ , Brucie Bear.

Once he's finished he hobbles out of the shower, holding himself up against the now closed shower door. He takes a minute to let the pain of having to move so damn much settle, before he finally snags a towel, drying himself the best he can before rapping it around his waist. He rolls his eyes as he stumbles over to the sink, leaning against the counter for support as he runs his good hand across the mirror, clearing the fog.

He stares at himself in the mirror, the word _villain_ leaving a sour taste in his mouth as he stares at his reflection. The arc reactor shines brightly in his chest, droplets of water sliding down over the transparent covering. He grumbles and uses the hand towel on the counter to wipe the water from it.

He tears his eyes from the mirror, having decided that he just wants to sleep. He shifts his attention to figuring out how exactly he's supposed to make it out of the bathroom using crutches with a towel around his waist _without_ flashing his junk to Captain America.

What the hell has his life come to?

He decides that crutches just aren't going to work, so he'll just have to hobble and hold his towel up with his left hand, because he's an idiot and he forgot to at least grab boxers, for God's sake.

Steve is busy staring out the window, gazing in wonder over the glistening lights of New York, when the bathroom door clicks open. He doesn't look straight away, just in case.

"I promise you that I'm modest," Tony informs him when he notices that the soldier is still pointedly not turning to face him, "at least for now."

Steve stands and finally tears his eyes from the window, _and Jesus Christ hasn't this happened to him once before?_

Tony's scowling over his need of assistance as he stands in the bathroom doorway, leaning heavily against the frame. His left hand is holding up the pristine white towel that he has thrown around his hips, and his weight is shifted to his left leg. His hair is dripping wet, though it's obvious the billionaire had run his hand through it once or twice, seeing as it's not plastered to his forehead. The arc reactor glows brightly in his chest, an expanse of scars stemming from its' rounded curves.

Steve is desperately willing himself not to blush. He's seen Tony like this once or twice before, but never because he had to. He realizes he's been staring at the glow in the genius' chest for a good ten seconds or so, attempting to ignore picturing the origin of the scars across his friend's chest. He clears his throat somewhat awkwardly, trying not to think much of the situation as he makes his way to Tony's closet. He picks out a simple black T-shirt and a pair of boxers, tossing them onto the bed.

When he looks back, Tony is obviously having a hard time moving towards the bed. He hesitates for a moment before going over to the engineer.

Tony switches his left hand out for his right hand to hold up the towel, silently thanking the universe for the use of his hand, even if his arm is useless. He loops his now free left arm over Steve's shoulder and allows the man to guide him over to the bed. He flops down, mumbling obscenities under his breath as he snatches the boxers beside him.

Steve takes that as his cue to turn away, and does so quickly, even if it is with a bit of reluctance. He waits a moment, listening to the genius' annoyed ranting about how he's not some damsel in distress, and how he'll be damned if he can't put on his own boxers. Steve waits patiently, trying not to chuckle at the billionaire.

"Alright, Captain Spangles, I'm officially no longer at risk of flashing you my genius, billionaire, playboy philanthropist junk. You're welcome."

Steve admittedly turns a bit redder at that, but spins back around nevertheless. Tony tosses him the black shirt, which he helpfully slips over Tony's head, careful not to cause him any pain. He hears Tony wince once or twice, probably from the stitches or his broken ribs, but there's not much he can do about it.

Once Tony is dressed, Steve reaches for the nightstand, grabbing 2 pills and a glass of water, and holding them out for the billionaire, "Here; Bruce said this should help with the pain."

Tony stares at him thoughtfully for a moment, before taking the offered pills and tossing them back. He swallows them dry, but takes a sip of the water anyway. He clears his throat before he looks up again, doing his best to give Steve the most genuine look he can, "Uh, thanks, Rog- Steve. Really."

The soldier allows a small smile at that, glad that Tony is at least trying to call him by his first name. "That's what I'm here for," he states simply, helping the genius scoot over and slide under the covers, "Get some rest."


	27. Alive and Well

Tony fell asleep relatively fast, though the pain medication probably had a hand in that. Steve lingered for a while longer while the billionaire slept, just in case he woke in pain or needed anything. He tried to subdue the voice in the back of his head; telling him that he was really just there because seeing with his own two eyes that Tony was breathing helped him personally, and that he was rather fond of studying the rare relaxed features of the genius' face.

He's not even going to bother denying it; he _is_ fond of studying Tony's face- especially when he gets to see him relaxed and somewhat at peace. Tony's always busy, always working on some project; whether it is for the suits, Stark Industries, or any of the Avengers, he was always working. It was never for selfish purposes, either. Upgrades to the armor were to make the genius as reliable as possible during battles, so that he can keep the rest of them from worrying about him and getting hurt in the process. SI projects were actually his job, but the things he creates are for the benefit of the general populace, the earth; everyone. Now, the Avengers projects; those were something else entirely. Tony spent hours upon hours of his personal free time- which was very precious time, mind you- improving, upgrading, creating weapons and armor for the team. He was always tweaking bits and pieces of his designs, analyzing their pros and cons during battle and trying to shift the creation as far towards perfection as he possibly can.

So no, he wasn't going to lie and say that he didn't enjoy witnessing the eccentric genius in a state of peace.

He watched as the blankets rose gently up and down, and listened to the subtle-not-so-subtle wheeze when Tony inhaled.

Steve figured it was probably from how invasive the arc reactor is, and although it kind of bothers him that his friend has difficulty breathing, he takes comfort in that gentle wheeze.

It means Tony is still inhaling and exhaling, getting oxygen to that remarkable brain of his.

Just like the soft blue glow of the arc reactor means that the shards of shrapnel are keeping their distance from the mechanic's heart, and not shredding it to bits in what would make for an agonizing death.

Steve couldn't even imagine.

Living with that fear, constantly wondering if this would be the day his light finally goes out- for good. He figures he can somewhat relate, considering that it's their job to put their lives at risk for the greater good, but it's just not the same. Having to wear your heart on your chest, almost literally, exposed, vulnerable; it would terrify him to no end. And while Tony isn't exactly open and embracing towards the arc reactor, Steve knows the genius takes at least a bit of pride from it. It's a technical marvel, after all, or so he's been told by many.

He sighs and stands from his seat as quietly as he can, because he's probably already over stayed his welcome. He lays out a couple more pills next to the glass of water on the bed side table, scribbling a note with the time Tony can take them beside it. He then grabs the crutches long since abandoned in the bathroom, and helpfully sets them up near the bed for easy access. His eyes trail over the sleeping form in the bed again, his hands hesitating for a moment before reaching for the comforter, pulling it further over Tony's shoulders. Upon giving his surroundings a final assessing scan, he nods and quietly slips from the room.

_The world is trapped in a green haze, tying an uneasy knot in his stomach. He tries to move, but no luck. He can feel his limbs, he's pretty sure, but he has no… no control._

_Frantically, his eyes dart back and forth, and soon he finds himself recognizing the displays on his HUD._

_He's in his suit, then._

_But wait, why is he in the suit?_

_He can feel his breathing increasing, because he knows he doesn't recall putting on the armor, and now there are five men lying on the ground in front of him._

_Upon closer inspection, he realizes they're wearing business suits, which is odd, because who wears a suit to a war zone?_

_Except this isn't a war zone- this is an office._

_He fixes his eyes on the men again, except it's no longer men- it's man._

_His skin is caked with blood, burns along the expanse of his hands, eyes cold and very near death._

_He wants to look away, but all he can do is watch._

_He can't move._

_He blinks rapidly; once, twice._

_Three times, and the man is gone._

_But now there's Thor, and Bruce, Clint and Natasha, oh god and Steve._

_Thor's hand has been cut clean off; Mjolnir resting stubbornly on his chest; his not moving chest._

_Bruce's eyes are flashing from green, to brown, and back again. It's a painful cycle, never ending, and Tony has to look away._

_There are arrows skewered through multiple places in Clint's writhing, dying body, and Natasha has one clean shot through her skull, right between her eyes._

_Then there was Steve._

_Beside his motionless form lay his shield, split in two as if it weren't made from the strongest metal on earth. Through his midsection is a gaping hole, clean through._

_From a repulsor blast._

_Tony's heart stops, his breath catches, and he stares._

_Steve's dead eyes stare straight back, passive and cold and_ _**dead.** _

Tony jerks awake, his sweat soaked back slightly sticking to the sheets as he sits up. His breaths are coming in a rapid succession, his chest heaving up and down but there's just _not enough air._

His lungs feel tight and they burn, as if there's a constricting hand toying with his insides, making it so he can never get in a full intake of breath. But then he remembers that that's not entirely a lie, because there is a clump of metal stuck inside there where it doesn't actually belong except that it _does._

On instinct his hands shoot to his permanently marred chest, desperately searching for the cool touch of metal against skin.

Sure enough, the sensation is there. The familiar thrum as the arc reactor does its' job reverberates against his palm, assuring him that, at least for now, he's still alive and kicking.

Suddenly he can breathe again- as well as one can with reduced lung capacity- and he's vaguely aware of a very concerned British voice speaking to him. He decides that he likes the voice, and that it's oddly comforting to him, so he figures he'll be polite and tune in.

_"Sir! Sir, your heart rate has increased drastically. You must control your breathing; you're in Avengers Tower in New York City."_ The lights turn on, slightly dimmed but enough to reveal the room, as if to prove the voice's claim.

Except that's not just a voice; it's JARVIS.

Right, JARVIS, New York, Avengers.

_The Avengers._

He practically springs from his bed, all beginnings of clarity tossed out the window. He's intending to make a break for the elevator, but instead finds himself with a face full of floor and a throbbing pain in his right arm, leg, and ribs.

With a pained groan, he rolls onto his back, ignoring the warm mystery liquid currently oozing down his side.

He'll worry about it later, because right now all he can think about is the Avengers; his _team._

_'Need to make sure they're okay.'_ He tells himself, his eyes scanning the room for something that could be of use to him when the voice speaks up again.

_"Sir, you need to calm down. I'm contacting Captain Roger-"_

"NO!" Tony shouts, effectively cutting off his AI, "No, Steve, I… gotta go see… Not you Jarvis, not your job…"

His eyes land on a pair of crutches, and he silently thanks the universe for small mercies. He sits up with another groan of pain, but promptly ignores the hurt in favor of checking on his team. He scrambles to the bed, pulling himself up with his good arm and settling on the edge. He takes a deep breath and reaches for his crutches, using their aid to stand up. He ignores how difficult crutches can be with a broken arm, because in the end it doesn't really matter to him; he'll make do.

He's clumsily stumbling out of the room, making a bee line for the lift, moving surprisingly fast for someone on crutches. Once inside, he leans heavily against the wall for support, mumbling a "Nat's floor, J."

Not one to disobey his creator, the elevator begins to move down, stopping on the assassin's floor as instructed. The genius hobbles inside, making his way to the red head's door.

He knocks frantically, praying to whoever is willing to listen that she's okay, and that there isn't a bullet between her beautiful emerald eyes.

She opens the door, half of her body concealed behind it, her eyes tense and assessing. She relaxes a bit upon seeing it's just Tony, muttering a curse and fully opening the door. Tony doesn't even notice the gun she had been hiding in her hand, and ignores the gentle click when she puts the safety back on.

"Tony? What the hell are you doing out of bed?" Her voice is a demanding whisper, her tone furious but only until she notices the state of the engineer.

His forehead is shining with sweat, his pupils dilated and eyes blown wide. The bags beneath them are hard to miss, and his hair is ruffled from sleep.

He doesn't answer her though, instead giving a nod of approval before he turns and starts hobbling back towards the lift.

Natasha goes after him, of course she does, only to stop in her tracks when her bare foot lands in something warm and wet. She looks down, only to find out that it is indeed blood. Her eyes slowly travel up, taking in the trail of red drops following the genius. She curses again and continues forward, catching up to the injured man with ease.

"Tony."

No answer.

"Tony," she tries again, reaching for his arm, "stop. You're bleeding. Sit down and I'll go get Bruce, okay?"

He ignores her and enters the lift.

With a sigh of annoyance she follows after him, because she'll be damned if she's just going to let him run off on his own in such a state. So she steps into the elevator with him, just as he's asking Jarvis to take him to Clint's floor.

The elevator moves down one, and he steps out again, Natasha following behind as a similar process to what had happened on her floor occurs. Soon she finds herself back in the elevator with Tony, and a grumpy, sleepy Clint Barton.

The process repeats until Bruce and Thor have also joined them in the lift. They're all casting each other worried glances, eyes flicking from one another then back to Tony. His eyes are glazed and in all honesty, he looks horrible. He's still bleeding though, and when Bruce came along the Doctor responded by stealing Clint's shirt and pressing it against the genius' freshly torn stitches.

When they finally make it to Steve's floor, they all wander out behind the hobbling genius, who is hastily making his way to the super soldier's room.

He stops at the door, knocking loud and hard against its' surface. There's no reply, so he knocks again, and again. Each time there's no answer, he releases a troubled whine, until he's finally had enough and his breathing has increased to the point where he's on the verge of a panic attack. He opens the door, privacy be damned, and barges inside, only to find the room empty of any super soldier's at all.

This, in turn, only fuels the panic churning in his gut. He feels his knees go week and suddenly he's being held up by strong arms, and is slumped lazily against a firm chest. He's pretty sure it's Thor, but it doesn't matter, because Steve isn't here and _he needs to find Steve, damnit._

He straightens up, much to the God of Thunder's (and everyone else's) protest, retrieves his crutches and hobbles back into the elevator, where he orders Jarvis to bring them to the gym.

The ride is a bit longer, or at least it seems that way. He can feel himself breaking into a cold sweat again, and he's vaguely aware of the worried glances and the pressure on his side but he couldn't care less. His team must realize that because they don't do much in attempt to stop him. They simply follow him, knowing how stubborn he truly is and that they'd rather be there to help him if he were to need them.

After what feels like forever, the elevator doors open. Tony exits, and is followed closely by the good Doctor who is still holding Clint's shirt to the genius' side. The rest of the team follows behind, Thor directly behind the billionaire should he fall, with Natasha and Clint on either side of him.

"Tony," Bruce pleads with a bit of exasperation in his tone, "Slow down, you're going to hurt yourself even more."

There's still no reply from the distraught brunette, not that anyone expected one. He simply continues his journey towards the gym, desperately searching out the reassurance of knowing that Steve is alive and well.

Jarvis helpfully opens the doors to the gym, revealing said super soldier, who is currently sweaty and has taken a boxing stance as he beats the nonliving daylights out of a punching bag.

Tony's stops in his tracks upon the sight of Steve, causing the Norse god to bump into him a bit. He stumbles forward, but is quickly recovered by the god. He stares at his team mate, who, upon hearing the group enter, has turned to face him.

His facial expression is easily read as confused, before it slips to worry and panic, even if Tony's has taken a more relieved quality to it.

"Tony?" He stalks forward, completely forgetting about his previous activities, "What's going on? Are you okay?" His eyes trail over the expanse of Tony's form, taking in the glazed eyes and the fear that lingers behind them. He lets his gaze continue downward, only to land on his side where Bruce is stood, still pressing the cloth over his wound. His eyes widen and snap back to the genius', "You're bleeding."

"Tore his stitches," Bruce supplies in a worried undertone.

"What- Why did you guys bring him to me?! He needs medical!" He's trying his best not to lose his temper, because he knows it's probably not their fault and he knows how stubborn the billionaire can be.

"We tried," Clint says, stepping forward and reaching to steady the genius, who is starting to sway a bit on his feet, "He wouldn't go; stopped on all of our floors and hasn't said a word."

"I think he had a nightmare," Natasha explains, a bit quieter than she normally would, "He seemed pretty spooked when he came to me."

Steve nods in understanding, returning his eyes to Tony, just in time, too. The man sways forwards and collapses against his chest, out like a light.


	28. Kotyonok

Clint Barton sat quietly in the common living room on the arm of the couch.

Well, more like 'perched' on the arm of the couch, but same difference.

Laying on the expanse of the sofa is one Tony Stark, his feet closer to the archer, and his head resting on the arm opposite.

Bruce had given Tony a little something to help him sleep, or rather, to keep him asleep so he could fix his torn stitches. With Steve's help, they had gotten the genius out of his blood stained shirt, tended to his wound, and covered him up with one of the man's MIT sweatshirt's that Natasha had found in his closet. After that, Steve carried him to the couch, where he'd been in a peaceful, drug induced sleep ever since.

Clint helpfully offered to keep watch over the billionaire, just in case he attempted to get up again. The last thing Bruce needed was to have to clean up his best friend's blood twice in one day; it's bad for his stress.

He's been keeping an eye on Tony for the past 2 hours, and he's pretty sure Natasha said she'd switch with him in about another half hour, but he didn't really mind either way.

For as much shit as he gives the genius, he knows that it's all in good fun, and that he and Tony are actually pretty good bros. It's also the least he can do, what with the man opening up his home to them and working non-stop to make sure all of their weapons are in tip-top shape.

His eyes trail over the casts occupying Tony's right leg and arm, his lips curling into a small smile at the drawings covering them. He realizing then that the man is only in a sweatshirt and a pair of boxers, and while JARVIS keeps the tower relatively warm, the night is always a bit chilly. Without so much as a sound, Clint leaves his place on the arm of the couch and makes his way over to the chest by the TV. He opens it and grabs the warmest blanket, before shutting it and bringing the blanket back to Tony. He covers the man from his feet to just below the glow of the arc reactor. He finds comfort seeing the light shining through the sweatshirt, even if it is dimmer through the material, and he knows it's not just him.

Just when he's about to sit down again, Natasha strolls mutely into the room, resting a hand on his shoulder. When he turns to face her, she's wearing black and red plaid pajama bottoms, fuzzy socks, a sweatshirt, and her hair is in a messy bun. Upon further inspection, he notices that her sweatshirt reads 'MIT,' much like the one Tony is wearing. He raises an eyebrow, his lips curling into an amused smirk.

She shrugs and slides down onto the love seat, before replying in a whisper, "Tony's closet."

"Ah," he nods in acknowledgement and plops down next to her.

"He's not very tall, so I figured it'd fit just fine," she explains, not that an explanation was needed.

He chuckles at that, twisting around so his feet are hanging over the arm and his head is resting in her lap, "I guess you're right, but it's still a little big on you, short stuff."

She sends him a glare that would appear deadly to anyone else, but he knows it holds no heat behind it; at least, not when it's directed at him. When her gaze softens, she runs her fingers through his hair, "You're not much taller than Stark, you know; maybe an inch or two."

"Taller than you by like 6 or 7 inches, though," he adds, earning him a flick to the forehead and a roll of her emerald eyes.

They stay like that for a moment, Natasha's eyes scanning the room every couple minutes or so. Clint's not even sure if she's aware that she's doing it, but soon decides that yeah, she probably is. His eyes never leave her face though. Instead, they take in every freckle, every curve, every dip of her eyelashes, never missing a single detail.

He's done this so many times before, but he finds comfort in having the opportunity to take in all of her features, as if confirming that it's really her. He found himself doing this a lot after the whole mind control thing; it helped ground him, as odd as it may sound.

Eventually her eyes meet his, and he knows he should probably look away- he doesn't want to make her uncomfortable- but he doesn't. They hold each other's gaze for a while, until he finds himself sitting up and considerably closer than he was before.

He wants to lean in just a little further, and he knows that if he doesn't, she won't, because that's just how she is. Just another inch, maybe an inch and a half, and then…

"Please don't play 'hide the salami' on my nice couch."

…the moment was over.

Natasha tears her eyes from his and refocuses on the groggy billionaire, shooting him one of her _actual_ deadly glares. Clint closes his eyes and groans, throwing a pillow at Tony's face.

"OW, hey! Injured genius over here! Don't ruin the merchandise, thank you very much," came the reply in the dimly lit room.

Tony looks like he's about to get up, so Natasha springs into action, leaving her spot on the love seat and appearing at Tony's side. She places a firm hand on his shoulder, forcing him back down.

"Stay," she orders.

He rolls his eyes and tries to sit up again, only to be pushed back down, "I don't want to! All I've been doing is sle- is that my sweatshirt?"

"Yes," she replies without a moment's hesitation, offering an amused smirk, "it's comfortable."

"You were in my closet? And why the fuck am I on the couch?"

"You woke everyone up and tore your stitches. Bruce drugged you, stitched you up, and you needed a new shirt that wasn't soaked in blood. So yes, I went in your closet. You're welcome."

"You don't just _take_ souvenirs from other peoples' closets and expect me to _thank you_ ; I believe that's called ' _stealing_ ,'" he points out, as if it makes a difference either way.

She flicks his forehead, "Stop whining, you have like three of these, and I got you one too, so yes, you could say thank you."

"Okay, one- _ow_ , two- _I think_ you just wanted us to match," he waggles his eyebrows at her.

She shrugs, "Sure, I could probably lend you one of my cat suits from my own closet, just to make us even."

He stares at her for a moment, probably trying to figure out if she's serious or not, "…You know what? I'm a pretty generous guy; keep it. I insist."

"Well, if you _insist_ ," she drawls out and ruffles his hair, "get some rest, kotyonok."

He furrows his brow, but his lips curl into a smirk, "Did you just call me a kitten, Agent Romanoff?"

She lets out a huff of laughter, "I see you've been touching up on your Russian."

"Perhaps a little," he admits, though it wasn't really a question, "I've noticed you occasionally slip into it, and I only knew the basics, but it always seemed like you enjoyed speaking it," he clears his throat somewhat awkwardly, "So um, I touched up a bit?"

He seems a bit uncertain, as if maybe he thought his observations were wrong and he actually offended her.

"Spasibo. Eto ochen' milo. Teper' idite spat', umnyy zadnitsu," she replies easily, the words rolling naturally off her tongue as she gives a gentle, but firm, tap on the light in his chest. _(Thank you. That's very sweet. Now go to sleep, smart ass.)_

He relaxes a bit, and offers a sleepy grin, because for some reason, it's never bothered him when she touched his arc reactor, "Budet delat', korotkiy material." _(Will do, short stuff.)_

She shoots him another deadly glare having learned he was eavesdropping, but she can't help but grin back once she realizes how much effort he must have put in to learning her native tongue.

He takes that as his cue to go back to sleep.

With a sigh, Natasha stands, turning back to face Clint, who, at some point in her exchange with Tony, had fallen asleep as well. Her lips curl up again, and she walks silently over to the chest, grabbing another blanket and returning to Clint. She considers just tossing it over him and leaving the room, but her mind goes back to the way he had looked at her before Tony interrupted. She takes one last glance at the genius, confirming that he's actually asleep, and slips onto the love seat beside Clint.

She throws the blanket over the two of them, tenderly running her fingers through his hair one last time and placing a gentle kiss to his temple, "Good night, kotyonok."


	29. Home

When Tony woke the next morning, it was to the smell of coffee, toasted Pop tarts, and the sounds of sizzling bacon and eggs in a pan. It took him a minute to place his location, because the past few times he had woken up, it was to white walls and a white ceiling and white bed sheets.

This time, however, he recognizes the space as the Avengers communal living room; which is odd because as the memories come back to him he's pretty sure he fell asleep in his own bed. Then again, he also vaguely remembers speaking to Natasha in Russian and having a pillow hurled at his face, so what did he know?

His thought process was still a little fuzzy, which appears to be one of his new constants upon waking, so he's probably just feeling the aftermath of medication and such, but it's clear enough that he's managed to conclude he is no longer in a hospital.

In all honesty, that was good enough reason for him to keep his eyes closed another minute or two, no matter how tempting the aroma of coffee was.

He can hear gentle shuffling around him, accompanied by some not-so-gentle shuffling (Steve and Thor), but it didn't bother him much. It was actually nice to gain a sense of comfort in his team's company, and though he knows good things never last and that he was entering potentially dangerous territory, he allowed himself to be selfish just this once because he was too out of it to care.

Maybe he'll find the time to care about it later.

His peaceful, uninterrupted rest didn't stay uninterrupted for long, however. Somewhere in front of him came a snore, followed by a _thump_ and a, _"Fucking hell."_

With a groan, Tony throws his left arm over his eyes, lazily scrubbing away the sleep before he has to open them and face the music.

The sight before him is more amusing than he had imagined, and he finds himself whisking away any initial annoyance from the interruption.

Clint lay half on, half off the love seat, his torso being on the floor. He's tangled in a blanket and there's a slightly amused but also slightly exasperated assassin hovering over him from behind the sofa. Given her current stance, it seems likely that she had shoved him off when the archer decided to be stubborn and not wake up.

Well, that would explain the _thump_.

Her calculating emerald eyes snap up to meet his. "Morning Stark," she says and offers an innocent smile.

"Mm," he mumbles in reply, but she gets the point. With a sigh he moves to sit up, and immediately regrets it.

"Mother _fucker-"_

"Language," Steve chides from his place in the kitchen, to which Tony's response is to throw him the middle finger over the back of the couch.

"Hand gestures count too, you know," he calls back, voice laced with a bit of affection, so Tony opts to ignore it for now because a) not dealing with emotions right now, and b) _fuck is he in pain._

"Take it easy," Natasha reminds him, coming to kneel at his side and ease him back down, "Do you really not remember our conversation last night? I thought you were supposed to be a genius."

He's about to say 'Last night? What about last night?' because really, all he could conjure up was completely _destroying_ everyone at poker, but then he catches a glimpse of her (ahem, _his_ ) MIT sweatshirt, and it all comes back to him.

"Right, stitches," he nods and then adds, "And for your information, I am a _certified_ genius. I take personal offence to the fact that you would doubt my intellect-"

"Alright," she shuts him up with a hand to cover his mouth, "Sounds like someone's feeling better."

"Mrhg," he murmurs under her hand, and when she doesn't retract it he licks her palm.

She pierces him with a deadly glare, and for a moment he actually fears for his life, but she doesn't move her hand.

"Are you aware that I could kill you at least 13 different ways right now with just my pinky finger?"

He swallows, and then offers a nod because god, she's terrifying.

Her lips curl up into a small smile and then just like that, her glare is gone, "Good."

He watches her stand and walk gracefully into the kitchen, and he doesn't dare say anything else to provoke her, even though Clint, still lying on the floor, seems to have found it entertaining.

"Not a word, Barton."

The archer just chuckles and stands up, offering a consoling pat on the genius' shoulder as he passes, following Natasha's trail into the kitchen.

He grumbles but makes no effort to get up, half because he's sort of learned his lesson and half because he's not ready to find out Black Widow's secret plans to murder him.

The only problem with being a certified genius is that his hands are itching to create, and his brain is in 100% support of satisfying that urge, but he's stuck on the damn couch.

And the ceiling is just so… boring.

"Jarvis," he croaks.

_"Yes, sir?"_

"Give me something to do with my hands," he says, grabbing the tablet from the table beside him and setting in on his chest.

_"Of course, sir."_

A holographic display of Cap's uniform appears from the tablet, rotating in a circle as it hovers innocently above the screen, waiting to be adjusted and revised.

He reaches up with his good hand, zooming in on the material that just won't fucking cooperate with him- _not good enough_ , his mind scolds him.

He's examining the inner workings and the bonds of the material when Natasha comes back in, not saying much but helping him into a sitting position so that he'll be more comfortable. Other than that, the team lets him work, and go about their morning routine while discussing what will be done with Loki.

That's when the elevator dings.

"Where is he?" A very ( _very_ ) familiar voice demands, and he hears Barton answer with a quick _"Living room. Couch."_

_Oh, he is so in for it._

A very angry, but also very worried and concerned, looking Rhodey marches into the room, and doesn't that just make his heart clench with guilt?

"You fucking _god damn idiot,_ " Rhodey growls, stomping over to the couch and snatching Tony's tablet away from him and setting it on the coffee table.

Tony swallows, and prepares himself for the _ass-chewing of a life time_ , but color him surprised when that's actually the opposite of what happens.

One second he's swallowing hard and readying himself for a lecture, and the next he's being engulfed in a hug that only succeeds in strengthening the painful tugging of guilt in his chest.

He takes only a moment to gather his thoughts before he's hugging his best friend back, doing his best to ignore the sharp pain that shoots up his side and through his right arm, because he doesn't care right now.

Rhodey is home; Tony can be anywhere in the world, and as long as he's got Rhodey, he's home.

Rhodey was the one who absolutely refused to give up on him when he was lost in Afghanistan, and in the end, had been the one to finally bring him home.

When he had found Tony in the desert- injured and dehydrated and _just so fucking tired_ , when he had fallen to his knees in complete and utter _relief_ , and when he had grabbed Tony by the shoulders and looked him in the eye before pulling him into the first hug he'd had in three fucking months- it felt like _home._

Even when he was in the place he hated most in the world- that cursed desert- when Rhodey hugged him all he could think of was home, and safety.

While it may not be under the same circumstances now, that familiar feeling was back and he allowed himself to be selfish for the second time today and just revel in it, and Rhodey must have understood that, or maybe he wanted to be selfish too, because he didn't let go of Tony either.

"You god damn idiot," he repeats, but there's no more heat to it, just relief, and Tony can feel all the tension run out of him.

"I know," he says, patting his best friend on the back while simultaneously fighting with his emotions because _no, he's not going to cry_ , "I'm sorry."

When Rhodey finally pulls away, he's giving Tony that look, the one he gave when he rescued him from Afghanistan, the one that was filled with his own guilt because he felt he didn't do enough, and he wasn't there, but was also filled with relief because his best friend was _alive._

Tony's never considered himself to have any real friends, and if he does, his brain usually writes them off as temporary company and never allows him to get too comfortable with them. And usually, his brain is right, but Rhodey has always been the exception.

Rhodey is the only person who Tony can honestly say that, ' _Yes, Rhodey is my best friend,'_ but more importantly, he can speak for Rhodey when he says that _'Yes,_ _ **I am**_ _James Rupert Rhodes' best friend.'_ And that's always been important to him, and it's the one thing he firmly believes will never change; not in a million years.

Someone clears their throat from the kitchen, and the two friends turn to look.

"Ah, we were just about to eat breakfast. You're welcome to join us if you want to," Bruce offers with a gentle smile.

"I didn't mean to intrude, I just wanted to make sure this idiot wasn't causing anymore trouble," Rhodey replies, jerking a thumb at Tony.

"Hey! You came because you _love_ me, and you know it," Tony points out with a cheeky grin.

Rhodes rolls his eyes, shooting an exasperated look at his friend, "Unfortunately."

"Don't be getting all sour on me, Honey bear."

"The offer still stands, Colonel," Natasha speaks up, and before Tony can antagonize him too much, she saunters over to the couch and flicks Tony on the forehead.

Rhodey offers her a nod, "Nice to see you again, Natasha."

"A pleasure, as always, James," she replies with a smirk, "Besides, anyone who can offer a helping hand with Shellhead over here is welcome anytime."

"You're one to talk, Natashalie," Tony grumbles.

She rolls her eyes and starts to walk back to the kitchen, "You know, I was going to bring you some coffee, but now I'm not so sure."

"What?" The billionaire pokes his head over the back of the couch, "No, I'm sorry! I take it back, Natasha, moon of my life! My sun and stars!"

"Stop making Game of Thrones references and I'll consider accepting your apology," she shoots back over her shoulder.

"Got it, deal," he sighs and leans back on the couch.

"Really?" Rhodes quirks an eyebrow at him and lowers his voice so only Tony can hear, "You managed to convince a lethal assassin to watch Game of thrones?"

"He made all of us watch it, actually," Steve calls from the kitchen.

Tony snorts out a laugh and calls back, "Damn you and your super soldier hearing. And I didn't _make_ you do anything! Admit it, you love it!"

"I like it," Clint shrugs, appearing out of fucking nowhere next to Tony and Rhodey. He settles on the love seat and kicks his feet up.

"I second that!" Thor booms from the kitchen, "There have been many glorious battles!"

"I still think it's bad for my stress," Bruce mutters.

"It's really… violent…. And there's so much… ah," Steve cuts himself off, still uncomfortable saying the words.

Tony secretly thinks it's adorable.

"So much boobs?" Tony asks, and Steve turns beet red, and god he loves doing that to him. "The boobs are essential, Spangles, you'll get used to it."

"He's seen 5 whole seasons, Tony, if he's not used to it by now he never will be," Natasha responds, and Tony knows that Steve is hiding his face in his hands by this point.

He looks to Rhodey instead though, who's just grinning like an idiot at him.

"What?" He asks, narrowing his eyes.

"Nothing," Rhodey chuckles, and then pats Tony on the shoulder, "You guys are just crazy."

Tony considers responding with an incredulous objection to how no, he is not crazy, but the words don't come out. Because no matter how many ups and downs they have, Rhodey is right. They're all crazy, but he wouldn't ask for them any other way.

He knows that sounds cheesy as fuck, too, but when Natasha finally brings him his coffee, her eyes are full of fondness, and when he takes that first sip, all he can think of is _home._


	30. Don't wake the Super Soldier

When Steve walked into the communal living room, he can honestly say that he was a bit surprised to see Tony actually following the Doctor's orders. He sat curled up on the couch, a book in hand- which is also slightly surprising, given that it's a physical copy, and he's… well, Tony. An afghan blanket is thrown across his lap, the pattern zigzagged with red and gold, and he has a mug of coffee on the side table to his left.

He looks so incredibly cozy and serene and Steve could almost swear his heart skipped a beat.

Maybe two.

"Hey," he speaks gently, doing his best not to startle the genius and disrupt the comfortable atmosphere of the room.

Tony looks up from his book, his lips curling into the slightest of smiles as he marks his page and closes the cover, "Oh, hey Steve."

He takes that as his invitation to continue the conversation and steps further into the room. He sits on the couch, close to the brunette but not enough to make him uncomfortable, and nods at the book in his lap, "What're you reading?"

Tony blinks and follows Steve's eyes to the book. He shrugs and flips it in his hands to show the soldier the cover, "Something called _'The Sociopath Next Door_.'"

Steve furrows his brow and leans forward to inspect the cover. He raises an eyebrow at the genius, who shrugs in response.

"Found it in Natasha's room," he explains.

"Ah," Steve chuckles, shaking his head.

At least it makes sense.

Tony laughs a little too, and Steve may or may not get butterflies in his stomach at the sound. It's a rare one, after all, and when it happens, it always brightens his day.

"Yeah," Tony nods at the book, "but did you know that 1 in every 25 Americans are actually sociopaths? Because, well, I probably did but I never really gave it too much thought."

Steve hums in curiosity and takes the book from the genius' lap, "Well, I guess this Martha Stout woman has."

"Guess so," he chuckles again, and Steve's chest flutters at the sound.

"So," the soldier drawls, holding the book out to Tony. When he hesitates, Steve suddenly remembers the billionaire's issue with being handed things and sets it on his lap instead. "How are you feeling?"

Tony gives him a grateful smile for the gesture, and reaches for his coffee before responding, "Better. Side's healing up, plus Bruce is hooking me up with the good drugs, so I'll be up and running in no time. Good as new."

"That's good to hear," Steve replies honestly, kicking his feet up on the coffee table in front of him, "but I'm honestly a little surprised you're not trying everything in your power to escape to the shop."

"Ha, yeah; believe me I'd love nothing more right now," he shakes his head and looks longingly towards the elevator. "Unfortunately, for some reason I thought it was a good idea to give Pepper and Rhodey pass codes to lock me out of the labs, and before Rhodey left he may have used them."

"Remind me to get those later," Steve teases, and Tony gives him a playful shove.

"In your dreams, Captain Spangles."

_"If I may, Captain Rogers,"_ JARVIS butts in from above, _"Since I am not under any restrictions by Sir, I would be happy to help you create such a code."_

"Hey! No, Jarvis, I did not program you to take Steve's side!" Tony points an incredulous finger at his A.I's closest sensor.

_"Of course not, Sir, however, you did program me to look after your well being and do what I feel is best for you."_

"Nope! I forbid you to conspire against me with Captain America! No way," he shakes his head, crossing his arms over his chest and pouting.

_"As you wish, Sir"_

"I _do_ wish, Jarvis," Tony responds and sips from his mug, which, upon further inspection, Steve notices says 'Trust me, I'm an Engineer. Let's just assume I'm never wrong.'

"Nice mug," he comments, and Tony snorts in laughter.

"Why thank you. Katniss gave it to me when I got home," he explains, a hint of amusement in his tone.

Steve grins and shakes his head, "Suppose I should've guessed that much."

"So…" Tony drawls, tapping his fingers against the ceramic cup, "when's Goldilocks taking Loki back to Asgard?" His voice is almost small- rather, as small as a Stark's voice can get- and he sounds a bit unsure.

Steve figures that's a pretty normal reaction though. He was mind controlled by the God of Lies himself, and control of his armor- something he swore to use only to help people- was taken from him as well. Now he's (temporarily) forbidden from the only place where he truly feels like himself after a week of being stuck in the hospital- possibly his least favorite place in the world besides Afghanistan.

"Don't worry about him," Steve reassures him, "He should be going back tomorrow morning."

He's almost positive it does nothing to calm the genius's nerves, but it was worth a try.

"What about Amora and Skurge?"

"Natasha and Barton are following up on some potential leads as to their location. We'll wrap this up in no time."

Tony nods, taking a sip of his coffee. He seems pretty satisfied with that answer, at least for now, but Steve can't help but notice how unusually reserved Tony is being. He's been rather quiet (at least, for him) since he's come home, aside from poker night and Rhodey's brief visit. Every now and then he'll get this really far-away look in his eyes- and Steve's not even sure he knows he's doing it.

It's probably nothing, he knows that, but it's disconcerting to see him so distant and a bit over cautious of everything and everyone around him.

The silence is back, and now Steve is left with the task of either finding something to do with his hands or finding something to talk about. He's considering just getting up and leaving Tony to his book and his coffee, when suddenly there's a bit of weight added to his shoulder and he can feel puffs of warm breath on his neck that sends shivers up his spine.

He turns his head ever so slightly, and can't help the smile that tugs at his lips at the sight.

At some point in the midst of their silence, Tony had drifted off, and listed to the side. The billionaire was now plastered against Steve, fast asleep on his shoulder. He found he didn't mind it, not at all, actually.

Steve grabbed for the red and gold afghan, tugging it higher up so that it hangs from Tony's shoulders, and even tugging a portion of it onto his own lap. Tony needs the sleep, Steve doesn't have the heart to move him to a more comfortable position and risk waking him up, and he could use a nap himself.

_That's all it is_ , he tells himself, but another part of his brain is screaming at him that _no, it's really not_.

When Tony woke up, he was surprised and relieved to find out that it wasn't because of a nightmare for the first time in a long time. He was warm, almost too warm, but he didn't care. He was tired and he didn't want to open his eyes just yet, and whatever it is he's laying on is far too comfortable to be real, right?

But then the thing moves, and he decides that it's much more real than he originally anticipated, because apparently said thing is alive.

Tony allows his heart to ache for a split second when he thinks that the last person he'd slept next to was Pepper, but that can't be right, because Pepper left him.

Pepper is gone and she's not coming back, not in the way he had always wanted her to. It doesn't bother him as much anymore, but occasionally he'll feel a pang of guilt for her constant care for him, only for him to fail her and their relationship. He doesn't blame her- never has- and besides, it's not like he never sees her.

But that doesn't answer the question.

Who the hell is he sleeping on?

He shifts, groaning at the painful tugging in his side but ignoring it for the most part. He blinks his eyes open, reaching up with his good hand to rub away the bleariness. When he focuses again and looks up for the answer to his question, his heart skips once, twice, then begins to pound a mile a minute.

_Steve?_

_Oh, god._

He didn't try anything with Steve, did he? He doesn't remember doing anything like that, but it wouldn't be the first time he'd forgotten a warm body from the night before. Then again, they both have their clothes on, they're on the communal couch, and upon further inspection it's really only about 6 PM.

His genius mind concludes that he didn't sleep with Captain America, so that's… that's a good thing, right?

Probably.

He shakes his head, mentally scolding himself for even considering something like that. Steve is his _teammate_ \- his _friend_ , for god's sake!

Alright, back to the problem.

He shifts as much as he can without waking Steve, mostly because he does _not_ want to have _that conversation_ , and also because Steve could use an extra hour or two of shut eye.

However, shifting with enough stealth so as not to wake up _Captain America_ proves to be a lot more difficult than he thought. He's just about ready to wriggle out from beneath the Steve's arm, -and wow, that's something he never thought would happen- when there it is again; that painful tugging in his right side.

"Ffff-" he starts only to stop himself by biting his bottom lip. He hisses out a breath instead, glancing down at his right to make sure he didn't tear his stitches.

Nope; no blood.

"Tony?"

"Fucking hell," he groans as he reluctantly looks up to meet Steve's eyes.

Steve's… tired, blinking eyes and disheveled hair.

He yawns once, then blinks again, all while Tony just stares; waiting for realization to hit, but also appreciating the view.

"What… what're you doing here?" The blonde asks, furrowing his brow before finally taking in the situation at hand- Tony, draped over Steve like he's some kind of body pillow, and Steve, with his arm wrapped around the billionaire's back as if to keep him from sliding off the edge of the couch.

Then suddenly he recoils, yanking his arm free, and what do you know- Tony does just that.

He lands on his back, and while it's not a long drop, it still jostles his wounds and irritates the heavy bruising on his right shoulder.

"Oh god, Tony I'm sorry-" Steve begins as he sits up to peer over the side of the couch, but Tony shakes his head and holds up a hand, clenching his teeth as he waits for the pain to subside.

"No… nope. All good- see?" He breathes out as he sits up. It takes a bit of effort, but eventually he gets there and leans himself up against the coffee table. He shuffles uncomfortably when he realizes he's sitting on something. Reaching behind him, he pulls out a book- _The Sociopath Next Door_ \- and scoffs at it as he tosses it aside.

Right, now he remembers.

Apparently Steve does, too, because when he spots the book he awkwardly clears his throat and stammers out another apology.

Tony cuts him off again, of course he does, because he's the one who fell asleep on the soldier, and, if he's being honest, he hasn't slept that well in years.

When silence falls between them, Tony almost considers just leaning back against the table and taking a nap, because considering the time his inner clock suggests it is, he's not quite ready for another dose of painkillers and knowing Bruce, he won't get them early.

But then Steve stands up and offers a hand, which Tony takes because his ass is starting to feel numb, and pulls him to his feet. He's a bit wobbly on his good leg- and his bad leg… well, it's his bad leg as of now- but Steve steadies him, so it's all okay.

"So… Chinese?" The blonde asks, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck.

And Tony thinks it's adorable, how could he not? He nods, offering a- dare he say it- _shy_ smile himself, and nods.

He supposes he could get used to this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello~ So I've decided to finish transferring this story over from FFN because I've gotten some comments asking for updates on here. I'm not sure yet if I'm going to finish this, because honestly, I don't even know where I was going with it. It was my first fic and I just wanted to get my Tony feels out. I'm not incredibly proud of it, but some people like it so I'm going to leave it up. There may or may not be updates in the future once I've finished "I am Iron Man."
> 
> Thanks for reading~ 
> 
> ~Airbrushed


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